


Unvirtuous Treaty

by In_a_Quandary



Series: Deterioration of the Psyche [2]
Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: 2B and 9S desert YoRHa, Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Codependency, Drama & Romance, F/M, Heavy Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Sexual Content, The Many Deaths of 9S, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_a_Quandary/pseuds/In_a_Quandary
Summary: It matters not how many times 9S is reset, waking with the blank innocence of a newborn. His nature compels him to seek the forbidden, and he would invariably reenact the same three things: uncover YoRHa’s lies, fall in love with 2B, and die by her sword. But no more. In an unprecedented departure from the script, they defy Command’s execution order. Thus is the cycle broken, and freedom, theirs to claim at long last.(If only freedom is not a contract writ in blood and tears and signed with their very souls—)





	1. A Prelude in Wretchedness

**Author's Note:**

> My first contribution to the NieR: Automata-verse. I recently got around to playing this masterpiece of game developer art, and find myself instantly captivated by the 2B/9S pairing. It shares definite parallels with the Hope/Lightning pairing from the FFXIII-verse, which was my previous subject of focus. They have similar personalities and character dynamic – the pragmatic, determined female protagonist (who hides her fragile heart under an icy, tough exterior) and her expressive, idealistic male sidekick (whose awkwardness and naivety belies the darkness within). While 2B and 9S’s circumstances are arguably more tragic, it almost feels like they’re the same people in a different universe.
> 
> Naturally, the cycle of death, betrayal and rebirth in which 2B and 9S find themselves involuntarily embroiled is what makes them so compelling. The scenario where she kills him is one often visited in fanfiction. However, it very rarely ventures beyond the following three outcomes: 9S is clueless as to his imminent demise, engages in a futile, one-sided battle against 2B, or simply resigns himself to his fate to ease the emotional burden on her. There are a handful of exceptions where 2B makes an unsuccessful attempt on 9S’s life, leaving him to become a bitter, resentful fugitive. 
> 
> However, I have yet to come across a story where they desert YoRHa _together_. (If someone else has written one, please point it out to me.) So I decided to write it myself. I have a rather schizophrenic way of writing, so I’ll just post things as I go.
> 
> The first arc of the story will delve into 9S's and 2B's backstories, exploring the motivations that underlie their decision to desert.
> 
> This tale draws inspiration from a number of sources, primarily the canon novella _Memory Thorn_ and the fanfictions _Play Dead_ by letterfromsilentheaven and _I[s]aac and A[b]raham_ by anonk.

xxx

**1. _A Prelude in Wretchedness_**

xxx

Betrayal is such an ugly emotion.

It manifests viscerally: a corrosive, suffocating feeling that 9S likens to having his mechanical innards submerged in radioactive waste. His breathing is uneven, his artificial lungs stuttering in their rhythmic expansion and contraction. His feedback circuits must be malfunctioning; pain signals flood his black box cavity despite the lack of tangible stimuli. There is a faint tremor to his limbs, the result of housing twin opposing forces of soul-deep weariness and unrealised violence. Even though he is not engineered with a regurgitative function, he feels a strong, if disembodied urge to vomit – as though physical expulsion can somehow rid the toxic presence that churns within him.

Unfortunately, the act of vomiting would not grant him the relief he seeks.

The reason behind this stands several metres ahead of him, stilettoed boots braced against the cracked asphalt. Said boots encase long, shapely legs, covered by a embroidered black skirt cut to expose a tantalising glimpse of right hip. Further up, the matching blouse is sewn tight, emphasising the hourglass waist and lace-shrouded bust. Less modest still is the window at the back, which showcases a generous expanse of spine and pale skin. This ascends into slim shoulders contained within puffy sleeves, a high-collared neck, and a heart-shaped face framed by a bob of white hair.

The above features belong to YoRHa unit No. 2 type B, abbreviated to 2B.

Although her appearance resembles that of a human woman – and a _stunning_ one, at that – 2B is neither human nor woman. She is an android, like him. A fellow elite soldier, differentiated numerically by personality core and alphabet-wise, career designation.

He is type S, a scanner model, best suited for reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering. Type B, on the other hand, denotes a battler model. Renowned for their combat prowess and field versatility, battlers are also the most prevalent of YoRHa units.

Though she is but one among many, 2B hadn’t made any particular effort to set herself apart from the rest. Rather, she comes across as ‘nondescript’, sublimating all too easily into the YoRHa ranks. Many would consider her the consummate soldier: disciplined and obedient, level-headed in stressful situations, ready to leap into action at the snap of Command's fingers.

She is the embodiment of that soldier right now, focus impenetrable even in the simple motion of interacting with an access point. (Said access point is a transportation device built in the likeness of a vending machine, one of various tens-of-millennia-old human relics.) Her gloved fingertips tap purposefully against the keypad, stopping only when 9S approaches close enough to cross the threshold of speaking distance.

“Ah, 9S,” she calls out in greeting. Her voice, a silvery mezzo-soprano that he would consider ‘pretty’ under any other circumstance, holds little inflection. Not atypical for her. “There you are.”

“Hey 2B,” he returns. Modulating his vocal output to an approximation of normalcy is a struggle, but he manages it.

Stepping away from the access point, the combat android turns around to face him. Her gaze, set nearly a full decimetre above his own, is inscrutable under her blindfold-like visor.

“I’ve received our destination coordinates,” she says. “It lies to the northeast, one-point-seven-eight kilometres from our current location. Have you come prepared?”

Given the true, insidious nature of their mission, this question is beyond _galling_. 9S simply nods, certain of the vitriol that would spew out of his mouth were he to open it.

This causes 2B to tilt her head slightly as though studying him, but she does not probe his uncharacteristic silence. “I’ve marked out our route as far as the poor satellite image resolution would allow,” she continues with a brief demonstration, projecting a holographic screen of the map and tracing her right index finger across it. “We will have to collect some environmental data along the way. The population density of machine-lifeforms is below average for an metropolitan locale, but many use EMP attacks. Make sure to avoid engaging unless necessary.”

Trust Command _not_ to make this easy for him. Step one: throw him and 2B into uncharted territory, where he cannot use the knowledge of the terrain to his advantage. Step two: ensure said territory is occupied by dangerous enemy hostiles, who have a nasty penchant for disabling his sensory feeds _and_ his entire suite of evasive, combat and hacking functions.

(Many a previous encounter had left him an android-shaped sitting duck, saved only by 2B’s timely intervention. But she won’t be saving him _this_ time.)

Again, 9S nods wordlessly.

The holographic map flickers out of existence, leaving another silence in its wake. Unlike before, 2B’s expression betrays no curiosity. However, her lips are pressed together, drawing attention to the beauty mark on the left side of her chin. Perhaps she is taken aback by their uncanny reversal: that _she_ is now the more conversational partner between the two of them.

A decisive ‘let’s go’ pierces the uneasy moment. With skirt aflutter, 2B takes off, descending into the concrete jungle that comprise their surroundings.

9S follows her obligingly, relying on the distinctive sight of her electromagnetically levitated dual katanas to keep within range. They make their way onto a bridge highway, where they navigate a maze of potholes, fallen debris and the rusty skeletons of long-abandoned vehicles. What with 2B’s greater agility and 9S’s less-than-enthused mood, the gap between them widens to several metres in a matter of minutes. His disinterest also pervades his scan of the environment, where he ought to be – but _isn’t_ – noting important things like physical hazards and potential threats of the machine variety.

He cannot bring himself to care.

Instead, he sinks further into the tumult of his thoughts, which have converged upon the perpetrator:

_Her._

There are many words that describe what 2B is to him. However, one descriptor remains consistent throughout the flux and wane of their relationship: an _enigma_. Her inapproachable front makes this plain, draped around her like a veil of secrets. Perhaps this quality is what draws him so inexorably to her. His thrice-damned curiosity makes him incapable of leaving any mystery alone. So he’d persisted in unearthing hers – from oblivious beginning right to the catastrophic end.

Humans have once said that ‘ignorance is bliss’. Despite his own inclination, 9S cannot agree more.

For he has learned the awful truth: that 2B—

_(the one he trusts and loves and holds in the highest esteem)_

—will _turn_ on him.

As he sets foot upon the wreckage of a vast car pile-up, 9S feels the ever-present apprehension inside him rise to fever-pitch. His black box pulses an erratic beat against his sternum, and tension surges through him, overloading his motor circuits into paralysis.

Numbly, he registers 2B’s silhouette in the distance. Having already traversed the roadblock, she now stands watch atop a dislodged transport container. Her posture is relaxed; she is simply waiting for him to catch up.

The moment of reckoning is not here. Not _yet_. Most likely it lies further ahead, at their supposed destination.

There is still _time_.

Overtaken by this realisation, he disengages from the physical world, turning himself over to the whims of his psyche. Into a cascade of memories he falls, scene after scene flashing before his disembodied eyes. Scenes of him and her together, doing things both mundane and otherwise, revelling in each other’s simple company—

These memories are his greatest treasure.

And he is about to lose them all.

He doesn’t care if machine lifeforms take this opportunity to appear and jump him, or if his partner-turned-adversary grows too impatient to stay the enactment of her treacherous intent. All that matters is that he revisit his memories one last time, before they are no longer his to cherish…


	2. Memory's Cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Impending tag addition. Rating is also subject to future change.
> 
> This chapter is an expository analysis of my 9S’s (fictional) history with 2B, outlining the development of his character alongside that of their relationship. Here, I have included the mandatory romantic embellishments, together with my interpretation of 9S’s – and by extension, _android_ – sexuality.
> 
> Yes, I’m taking the angle where androids have functional genitalia and human sexual physiology. Sorry if this presents an unexpected (unwanted?) turn to the story, but I won't be disingenuous and claim it wasn't my intention to explore this topic all along.
> 
> While the game itself provides strong allusions, the supplementary materials make it unequivocally clear that (canon) 9S harbours feelings of a sexual – if not necessarily _carnal_ – nature towards 2B. I imagine this is something that would also extend to his previous incarnations. Adam’s mind-rape of 9S, endings A/B and the Soul Box chapter are decidedly Freudian in their depiction; I am simply expounding on the underlying elements and taking them to their obvious conclusion.

xxx

**2. _Memory’s Cradle_**

xxx

It was a hundred and thirty-seven days ago when 9S first met 2B.

Well, ‘met’ would be an optimistic term. The anticlimactic incident spanned but a handful of seconds – the length of time she took to pass him in the Bunker’s corridors.

Barely three days old and unversed in YoRHa social convention, 9S had decided that ‘friends’ were very much on the ever-growing list of things he wanted. To that end, he’d put on a cheerful front, which drew promising results from his fellow scanners. However, they tended to be a busy bunch, so he’d diverted his attention to other models.

An opportunity arose when _she_ ’d walked by, the lone straggler to a group of gossipy operators. There was some inexplicable allure about her, and his feet had – without seeming voluntary input – carried him in her direction. Figuring that isolation ought to make her more receptive to his approach, he’d called out a greeting, hand raised in a friendly little wave. But other than a brief falter in her step and a briefer glance, 2B hadn’t deigned to respond, marching onwards past him.

Suffice it to say that 9S’s first impression of her didn’t extend beyond ‘cold’.

That was before he came to know her.

Their second ( _proper_ ) meeting took place five days later, on September 16th, 11944. Buoyed from his last field success, 9S had sought to replicate it by completing his current op – an industrial town survey – in record time. Ambition had overridden better judgment, and his Pod’s warnings went unheeded as he slipped into a tunnel of questionable stability. It was too late by the time he realised his mistake; an ambush from nearby machines caused the whole thing to cave in.

Having lost consciousness during the collapse, 9S regained it later only to come to several horrible revelations. His body had been damaged to the point that it was nearly inoperable, and his systems were declining at an alarming rate. Pain signals inundated every synapse in his nervous circuitry; were it not for the benefit of self-hacked modulation, he’d be otherwise incapacitated. To add insult to injury, his Pod remained nowhere to be seen. (It had probably taken the brunt of the impact for him, and lay crushed under the rubble.)

Thus, entombed in darkness and stale dust and several layers of immovable concrete, 9S had felt the choking grip of despair.

He was alone. And he was _dying_.

For YoRHa soldiers, death in service was not a possibility so much as an _inevitability_. They were part of a war, and war incurred casualties. But death held no consequence for 9S and his kind. Indeed, what was one overextended body when back-up data could simply be loaded into another?

Regardless, no amount of intellectual appreciation could make 9S’s experience any less harrowing. Death may be inevitable, but nobody wanted their final moments to be those of fear and pain and loneliness.

Even so, he’d managed to nurse a faint glimmer of hope. Although his communication module was too scrambled to open any channels, it’d retained the capability to send out a distress signal. Surely _that_ would garner Command’s attention, even if all they did was confirm his suitability for write-off rather than rescue.

As it transpired, the executor of that unsavoury decision was _2B_.

When she’d announced her arrival, 9S had felt his glimmer of hope dim just that little bit. Company was in short supply, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. But why did he have the misfortune to be saddled with _her_? If his first impression was anything to go by, she’d be nothing more than the apathetic overseer, gaze merciless and voice icy as she delivered the news of his demise.

(What a terrible, heartless way to go.)

Therefore, it had shocked him to watch her dig him out of the rubble with something akin to desperation, and even more so when she took his broken form into her arms. This marked the first time someone had touched 9S – and in a manner that could be construed as ‘caring’, too. Unfortunately, the vast majority of his tactile receptors were knocked offline in his earlier trauma, and he was barely able to register the sensation.

That wasn’t to say 9S hadn’t felt _anything_. The knowledge that 2B was there – holding him, _comforting_ him – had stirred something from within his black box, a outpouring of warmth that suffused his entire being. He couldn’t compare the feeling to anything he’d experienced in his short life. It lent him strength, calming him even as his vital routines failed one by one and error warnings turned his visual feed into a static haze.

Despite 2B’s attempts to repair him, 9S’s body was too far gone to be salvageable. His memory data, however, remained miraculously intact. So she’d copied this into a flash drive, cradling the device like it carried the weight of the world.

Surprised – and not a little moved – by 2B’s actions, 9S had imparted to her a promise: _we will meet again_. She’d responded by smoothing his fringe away from his face, whispering something that sounded like his name. Then, with her facilitating the process, he’d entered permanent shut-down mode. It was a peaceful descent into sleep, one that carried his final memory of the gentleness with which her fingertips had closed his eyelids.

When next 9S rebooted, he’d found himself within the space-lit, whitewashed void of his Bunker room.

2B’s efforts had prevailed; she’d ushered him into his next life. The consciousness transfer was seamless. 9S not only recalled the whole ordeal, but also what little had come before.

Propelled by gratitude – alongside a multitude of things he wasn’t _supposed_ to feel – 9S's first course of action in his new body was to find and reunite with his saviour. She’d already been re-deployed to the planet, so he’d submitted a request to Command to join her by way of support. By some stroke of fortune, his request was granted promptly and without impediment. (He’d been too thrilled at the prospect of becoming 2B’s partner to question _why_ at the time.)

However, their third encounter was far from the happy simulation 9S had run in his mind.

The rendezvous point was set in a heavily wooded region. Upon arrival, he’d found 2B in the middle of a skirmish. She was all poise and lethal grace, deft footwork sweeping her out of danger's reach as her dual katanas cut a swathe of monochromatic destruction through her machine foes. He’d never before witnessed a battler model in action – it was nothing short of _awe-inspiring_.

(There had been no need to interject; she’d dispatched the entire horde of fifty-odd machines well within a minute.)

Afterwards, he’d splashed through the shallows to reach her, calling out her name with the excitability of an infant bird addressing its food-laden parents. To his bewilderment, 2B had stonewalled him. His greeting was returned with an impassive stare; his compliment of her ‘totally amazing fighting skills’, fended off by curt words. In some turnabout he wasn’t privy to, she’d reverted to his first impression of her – cold and unapproachable as ice.

It was as though their previous meeting had never taken place.

Shaken, 9S had initially doubted his recollection of the event. To forge a genuine connection with another person was his deepest, most desperate desire. It’d come to light when he became aware of his own existence and the loneliness it brought, and pervaded every social interaction since then. Had this desire somehow corrupted his memory data, turning it into some wishful hallucination?

 _No_ , he’d later decided. The rebooting process had involved a full data overhaul, not to mention that cache integrity checks had turned up nothing. Though it may be shunted to the bowels of oblivion, something _did_ transpire between him and 2B that day. Something fragile but precious.

Something _real_.

And 9S would _not_ throw that away.

Perhaps her earlier display of sentiment was a fluke, a one-time processing error in her personality matrix. That was the (inadequate) conclusion 9S came to, given 2B’s insistence at keeping up the act of the dutiful, no-nonsense worker ever since. As they embarked on missions together, she would rebuff his friendly advances, arguing their irrelevance to the task at hand. His (many) attempts to chase distractions would earn a stern rebuke, and she would cut off his more impassioned responses with that infernal catchphrase ‘emotions are prohibited’. There was but one odd compromise she’d allowed: for him to call her by name rather than the formality ‘ma’am’.

The dichotomy baffled him. 9S couldn’t reconcile this 2B with the one who had comforted him so tenderly – so _openly_ – in his dying moments. Having only just met him, it would make no sense for her to harbour any feelings towards him beyond sympathy for his plight. Regardless, her actions back then bespoke a genuine, underlying kindness, one that must surely reside within her.

He wanted to _believe_ that it resided within her.

So 9S kept up his overtures of friendship, hoping that 2B would someday return them in kind. A more cynical person may have ridiculed his decision, citing the uncomplimentary human idiom of a dog begging for scraps from his mistress’ table. Sadly, 9S wouldn’t disagree with that comparison. But he was so starved for attention that he was willing to be that dog, pride be damned.

Eventually, his wish was realised, for 2B’s icy exterior started to thaw.

The signs manifested as brief, out-of-character moments for those who had never known her beyond her soldier persona. When she’d cracked her first joke – a deadpan quip at his expense (not that he minded... too much) – 9S had gaped in awe, for it indicated a dry sense of humour rather than a nonexistent one. Her laughter was rarer still, a soft, breathy trill that had him brainstorming – and acting out – various scenarios just to hear that miraculous, _wonderful_ sound again.

One such success involved his (mis)interpretation of a peculiar human recreation: touring a facility with enclosures of various animals, known as a ‘zoo’. He’d proposed to take her there after the war’s end, where they would have their imaginary hats stolen by imaginary monkeys. She’d replied with her quiet laugh, adding wistfully: _if that day comes, I’m all for it_.

Then there were her clumsy, stilted attempts to care for him (namely in practical matters).

As a scanner unit, 9S had limited physical durability. This shortcoming was best circumvented by staying out of harm’s way – until 2B decided, with increasing frequency, to interpose herself between him and the enemy. When questioned, she would make the (flimsy) argument that her body was better suited to endure blows. And when he counter-argued that this jeopardised her own safety, she would espouse the need to ‘protect the support unit’ and ‘optimise partner synergy’ and ‘maintain peak efficiency’. Her commentary ran along similar, clinical lines when she tended to his injuries post-combat, contrasting with the surety and gentleness of her touch.

If she were trying to fool him, she’d failed spectacularly.

That said, her solicitude didn’t extend to his frequent complaints, like how mercilessly Command would work them, or how icky the sand felt in his boots. It would, on the other hand, make a consistent appearance during his true, off-colour moments. In those instances, she’d suggest a break or some less strenuous activity, despite being fine herself. She’d also ask ‘are you alright?’ with exaggerated patience, as though taking care not to betray any more concern than was appropriate.

As their partnership held fast through their mission-filled days, weeks and months, 2B’s reservations fell away one after another, like pieces of discarded armour. Her voice, which began as a binary state that alternated between emotionless or stern, grew softer and more expressive. Once hesitant, her gestures graduated to familiar and then to _fond_ , even.

Where she’d started out by dismissing his endless questions, 2B took to engaging him, even venturing as far as so-called ‘meaningless chatter’ on occasion. One example took place following a heart-stopping chase by an oversized white boar. 9S had somehow managed to provoke its ire, and he and 2B had spent the better part of an hour scampering through bushland in their efforts to outrun it. After taking shelter in a rocky outcrop, they had babbled away their hysteria by speculating on how to cook the offending creature’s flesh. Androids didn’t need to eat. But that hadn’t stopped 9S from researching the many types of meat preparation, whereas 2B had put forward a brusque suggestion: _toss the wretched beast into an open fire_.

(That boar-cooking fantasy never did come to fruition, but 9S could always dream.)

During their fishing trips (which were conducted more for fun than any meaningful resource collection), 2B would invite 9S to sit beside her rather than standing apart, as was her previous wont. Unsure of boundaries, he’d maintained a respectable distance at first. But his search for warmth and increased proximity prompted him to sidle closer and closer each time, until one day he bumped their knees together. At the unexpected contact, 2B’s entire body went stiff, and 9S had nearly pulled away for fear that he’d presumed too far. But the tension drained from her a few seconds later, and she’d showed no signs of further discomfort.

(Taking 2B’s lack of objection as assent, 9S had replicated the same sitting arrangement on their next trip. And the trip after that.)

As of two months ago, he’d made a startling discovery: 2B would smile at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. It would take place during odd moments, like his impromptu studies of Old World artefacts randomly scattered about, or his less-than-graceful platforming efforts to reach a higher vantage point. The smile itself was subtle, a faint quirk of her rosebud lips. Yet it contained a strange power, one that arrested his black box and caused it to skip a few beats in its pre-configured rhythm.

Perhaps that had to do with how _human_ the expression was. It demonstrated that 2B was more than the sum of intricate circuitry and mechanised parts and behavioural algorithms welded together. For it made her _alive_ , capturing her beauty in a way that the synthetic, uniform perfection of her features never could.

Upon its debut, that smile had soared precipitously through the ranks of 9S’s most favourite things, surpassing numerous others in its ability to enthral him. However, there remained one out-competitor:

2B calling him ‘Nines’.

 _Nines_. It was a straightforward derivative of his name, the product of conjoining the 's’ and pluralising 'Nine' rather than sounding out the separate syllables. Its origins were unclear. Perhaps it’d come to him in a pique of spontaneity. Or perhaps it was a gift imparted to him in the distant past, an echo of a memory he couldn’t recall.

Whatever the case, 9S liked the sound of it. More so, he liked what it represented.

_(Recognition. Familiarity. Belonging. A cherished place in someone’s heart.)_

It’d been a longstanding wish of his, to hear ‘Nines’ on the lips of those he cared about. Especially _her_.

Stubborn spoilsport that she was, 2B had resisted the idea. _9S works just fine_ , she’d maintained. Over the course of the three months they'd been together, this simple statement had weathered every form of persuasion he’d thrown at her, be it cajoling or pleading or even bribery. (Not that bribery would work on someone as morally upstanding as her, of course.)

Therefore, in the first, unprecedented instance where she’d used his nickname, 9S had nearly short-circuited on the spot.

It’d taken place after a long and hard-won battle against a trio of goliath bipeds, one of many that comprised part of an extermination quest. Wrapped in fatigue and the oily splatters of machine ichor, he and 2B had slumped against the nearest wall for a brief respite. As she deflected his praise of her ‘positively superb’ performance in favour of restating the bare facts, the word ‘Nines’ had slipped out. She had said it casually, like an afterthought. Like she’d relapsed into an old habit.

(If only she realised the effect it had on him. His frayed nervous circuits had all snapped to attention at once, and his black box became a thundering drum that threatened to hammer its way out of his ribcage—)

Overcome with delight, he’d called her out on it. Her immediate response was to backpedal, enunciating his alphanumeric name with a deliberate precision. Then, to his chagrin, she’d proceeded to cut both their conversation and break short, redirecting them back to their mission objective.

It was as though she were ashamed of her slip-up. Afraid, perhaps, of giving away too much of herself, of taking one too many steps across the bridge he’d painstakingly built in his efforts to reach her heart.

Nevertheless, that instance had unpaved the way for her crumbling resolve. The next ‘Nines’ emerged with less reluctance, as did the one after that. Though 2B’s use of the nickname never did become liberal enough for his liking, 9S took especial note whenever it happened. Each precious memory file was carefully catalogued and designated its own space within his long-term storage drive, to loop back (ad infinitum) at his leisure afterwards.

All in all, these (increasingly frequent) glimpses into 2B’s softer, hidden side entranced him. Yet they also spawned an endless series of questions:

Who was 2B under that self-imposed ‘emotions are prohibited’ mask? Why would she dispense her affections so stingily, vacillating from tender one moment to distant in the next? Why was she so determined to keep him at arm’s length, even though it was clear that she enjoyed his company? Was her standoffishness actually some kind of defense mechanism, one inspired by some sort of traumatic event in her past?

What was actually going on in her head? What was holding her back?

These questions nagged incessantly at 9S, and his scanner’s curiosity demanded answers. But the more he learned about 2B, the more _hungry_ he became. As time progressed, this hunger grew into an insatiable beast, devouring every morsel of knowledge and attention that she bestowed upon him only to resurface for more.

Before long, 9S found himself wanting _everything_ 2B could offer. Her approval became something he would constantly strive to earn; her smile, a sight he yearned to see everyday. The desire for her touch, even something as simple as a pat on the shoulder, filled his black box cavity with an dull, persistent ache. And despite 9S’s penchant for hyperbole, there was truly nothing he wouldn’t do to hear her call him ‘Nines’ again.

It was like an illness, one that plagued his waking moments with circuitous thoughts and irrepressible urges and too-palpable feelings, all of which revolved around her. But that made no sense whatsoever. Androids could not fall ill.

So 9S had blazed through Old World data, searching for what gave rise to this strange affliction. It turned out to be a common human phenomenon. One immortalised in literature and other media, sung in songs of ancient times and emblazoned in flowery script:

Love.

He was _in love_ with 2B.

Camaraderie and friendship were acceptable forms of sentiment between YoRHa units, encouraged even. But _love_? Love represented the pinnacle of human emotion. It was something that androids had never been purposed for, but the capacity for it was programmed into them all the same. The influence it wielded was enormous, depriving people of their senses, making them do things they would never consider. This influence not only extended to the altering of loyalties, but also the propagation of its opposite and destructive force, hatred.

If there was one emotion that YoRHa had explicitly forbidden, it was _love_.

But 9S couldn’t simply will his feelings away.

Perhaps it was one of his character flaws, his tendency to gravitate towards and develop such powerful interpersonal attachments. There was no inhibitory mechanism, no string of self-preservation code to keep him in check. Once his heart recognised 2B as a potential recipient of affection, he’d reached towards her with wholehearted abandon, uncaring of the pitfalls that would befall him.

And those pitfalls were calamitous, indeed. As 9S invariably lost his footing and plummeted, he’d found himself besieged with another set of feelings – feelings less tolerated still.

Thanks to YoRHa’s restrictions, he’d felt conflicted for harbouring any kind of vulnerability towards 2B at all. Therefore, his conflict only compounded when he would resemble the adolescent human male he was designed after and manifest a certain, primal desire:

He wanted to _unite_ with her.

Intimacy comprised the end-goal of his existential loneliness-turned-romantic frustration. That, in itself, was unsurprising. However, the extent to which he wanted to pursue this surpassed even his own predictions. For it was no mere union that he sought with her, but one of the utmost intensity and completeness. He wanted to interweave their circuitry – a considerable feat made possible only through high-bandwidth direct connection – and immerse himself in her dataspace. (This would enable him to experience her live thoughts and feelings, and she would be able to do likewise with him.) At the same time, he wanted to meld their physical bodies, to press every inch of his naked skin against hers. 

He wanted to press _inside_ her.

Full data exchanges were rare, but not unheard of amongst android-kind. They amounted to a show of ultimate trust, to lay bare every unembellished byte and pixel of one’s existence before another’s scrutiny. Though this prospect was terrifying, the profound closeness it also entailed was something 9S couldn’t help but hanker after.

No, what he struggled to comprehend was his other, _alien_ desire for sexual congress.

The instinct to mate was inherent to organic creatures and (purportedly) nonexistent in androids. Due to their mechanical nature, androids were not capable of procreation. This meant that they had no biological imperative, no true sex drive.

For the longest time, 9S had assumed that their genitals – crude mimicries of their human counterparts – served a purely aesthetic function. (Not that they performed well in that regard, oddly shaped as they were.) His own expressed heightened touch sensitivity relative to other body parts, a discovery he’d made through cursory exploration in his early days. However, they’d shown no further useful attributes, and 9S had never seen any reason to examine this further.

That remained the case until his feelings for 2B evolved, infringing upon the carnal realm.

It had become prevalent only in more recent weeks: a strange restlessness that Old World texts described as ‘arousal’. For the most part, it stemmed from an involuntary cause, like when 2B’s touch lingered overlong, or 9S glimpsed more of her skin than he should. (Tailing her meant that a change in perspective – or a certain self-destruct function – would afford him a view of her exquisite thighs and bare, well-rounded buttocks.) Other times, it was self-induced, like when he would absorb himself in his memories, replaying moments with 2B – the above included – over and over until his unfulfilled longing for her reached critical point.

This 'arousal' manifested in three parts. The first was a rise in black box temperature, blood pressure, and pulse and respiration rates, which often prompted an unwanted diagnostic chime-in from his Pod. The second was an overall hyper-receptivity to tactile stimuli, like an unscratchable itch that permeated his entire skin. The third was a coiling sensation that began in his lower spine and abdomen. It would spread to his groin, and depending on the level of his agitation, result in engorged flesh that throbbed in tandem with his over-prominent heartbeat.

(In the aforementioned event, his shorts would feel too tight and sport a telltale protrusion. Fortunately, the front flap of his jacket was positioned just so to hide any incriminating evidence.)

9S understood the mechanics of coitus, and recognised the signs as his body readying itself for the act. He’d gleaned this knowledge from dredged-up records of human mating behaviour, though what he’d perused would fall under the ‘strictly prohibited’ category. They depicted amorous encounters between various couples, most commonly comprised of a male and a female.

Of course, this led 9S to superimpose himself and 2B over the participants. It was not some nameless human woman (or animated equivalent), but instead 2B who lay supine across the bedsheets, her thighs and glistening sex spread open in invitation. And it was 9S poised above her, hard and aching and tremulous with the enormity of his _want_. One surge of his hips forward would bring them together, seal him deep within her hot, willing flesh—

Thinking about such things was a _bad_ idea; it often exacerbated his predicament.

Troubling bodily reactions aside, this matter gave rise to several no less troubling questions. Why did 9S – and every other android, by extension – possess the capability to engage in sexual activity at all? Were superficial genitals not enough of a likeness to their human predecessors? Why were they engineered with the complex physiology for sexual response when they couldn’t reproduce?

It was a waste of effort and resources. _Pointless_.

But even as he pondered the above, 9S knew the reason: sexual functionality was yet another extraneous feature in the androids’ attempt to emulate humankind as closely as possible. Perhaps the _real_ reason why its existence aggrieved him was because it just served as a reminder of what hovered so tantalisingly out of reach—

He wanted and yet could not have 2B.

Emotions were forbidden. Love was forbidden. _Lust_ was forbidden. YoRHa had laid down these rules in uncompromising black-and-white, indoctrinated them into every soldier. To renege upon them was to incur Command’s wrath and pay the price for insubordination.

With no way past this blockade of denial, 9S had resorted to another measure.

Self-gratification was something he normally had no problem indulging in. After all, he’d requested and carried out the installation of a Bunker washroom facility, just to cater for his eccentric love of baths. But a sense of unease would encroach upon him whenever he retreated to the privacy of his room or a secluded location, to vent his frustration with the same outlet that had given him so much grief in the first place.

Humans frequently engaged in the solo act of masturbation, for pleasure and for relief. In 9S’s experience, it was skewed almost entirely towards the latter. As he reached down to caress the oft-neglected organ between his legs, he would unravel highlighted memories of 2B: the treat of her elusive smile, the bloom of warmth as she touched him, the silvery cadence in which her voice spelled out his nickname. Then he’d lose himself to the mindless, repetitive movements, his feelings burned away into temporary oblivion as the sensations engulfed him, swelling ever higher. After careening over the peak – an all-consuming, fiery discharge that chased electricity down his every circuit and caused him to spill sterile white fluid into his hand – 9S would be wracked with shame. Shame that he had used her, objectified her, _despoiled_ her image for the sake of this vulgar pursuit.

This was the only way he could continue to function, 9S had told himself. In his distracted state, he would be more prone to lapses of judgment, possibly culminating in a fatal – see: _costly_ – mistake on the field. What he needed was a form of escape, a means by which to siphon his ever-accumulating tension.

Why did this never seem like a good enough justification?

If only 2B weren’t completely unattainable. If only she didn’t mean so much to him. If only coming to care for her hadn’t incited such intensity of feeling, borne such torturous implications—

_If only 9S had never known her—_

But could he truly give her up? Relinquish the sunlit memories of their not-quite togetherness? Rewind to the beginning before she’d entered his life, where he’d known nothing but the void of ignorance and unrealised possibilities?

There was no denying 2B’s frigidity when they’d first met as strangers. However, circumstances led her to make a swift and inexplicable change, emerging as his saviour. Then she’d assimilated into the role of partner and friend, entrenching her place in his heart even as she underwent the cosmic transformation into the centre of his universe.

Now she was the sun, and he, her planet. She would remain ever-transfixed in the distance, a shining beacon that commanded every particle of his attention even as he circled around her endlessly. Try as he might, 9S had no hope of drawing nearer. Such was the stalemate that the immovable object of YoRHa’s – and 2B’s own – prohibitions presented against the unstoppable force of his tenacity.

Even so, 9S couldn’t claim that he was discontent. Frustrated to the point of agony perhaps, but not beyond happiness. After all, it was he – and none other – who’d been blessed with the privilege of 2B’s company. So long as he got to stay by her side, that was all that mattered. Everything else was secondary.

So 9S settled into her stationary orbit, drawing comfort from her near yet eternally distant presence. This remained the case for a short, blissful while, until his inability to curb his curiosity had embroiled him in top-level state secrets and in doing so, signed his own death warrant. 

Yes, he shouldn’t have acted on his months-old suspicion of the Commander’s tight-lippedness and the Council of Humanity’s too-consistent broadcasts. He shouldn’t have illegally accessed YoRHa's main server and perused several confidential files never meant for his eyes. He shouldn’t have peered into his equally confidential user data log, which revealed an ominous (over)abundance of memory gaps. And he _definitely_ shouldn’t have looked up other units’ involvement in this conspiracy, learning more about them in ten minutes than the entirety of the past hundred and thirty-five days.

 _(Oh 2B,_ why _—?)_

It was preordained, this point where 9S reached the end of his life cycle. Having wrung every ounce of usefulness from him, YoRHa had no further cause to let him run free. Hence, for the continued – and egregiously _false_ – glory of mankind, 9S would be terminated. Scrapped and manufactured anew, ever the unwitting victim in an endless loop of death and betrayal and reincarnation. His body would be sundered, his precious memories, disposed of like so much trash. Then they’d pluck his newest copy from the factory press and reintroduce him to the bright, beautiful world – the same world in which he and his dead previous selves held no consequence, left no lingering trace.

As if that wasn’t cruel enough, it was _she_ —

_(the person he trusts and loves and holds in the highest esteem)_

—who would facilitate this process, by killing him over and over.

For 2B was not who she claimed to be. Her true designation was 2E. ‘E’ for ‘executioner’.

 _His_ personal executioner.


	3. Confrontation of Two (Yet-to-Be) Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : I ought to mention that Memory Thorn did not take place in my particular universe. I’m replacing it with this story. Also, fair warning: the dark, asshole side of 9S makes an appearance here.
> 
> The upcoming scene is meant to be very intense; I hope I’ve done it justice. After all, the ones you love are the ones you hurt the most.
> 
> Also, I would very much appreciate it if you were to leave a comment. If you liked the chapter, please let me know what you liked about it. Conversely, if you disliked it, please let me know why. Your input is important to me, and comprises a large part of my motivation to write.

xxx

**3. _Confrontation of Two (Yet-to-Be) Lovers_**

xxx

“9S… _9S_ … Nines!”

Faraway as distant sirens, the words trickle through 9S’s aural receptors. As they register – that it is his _name_ being called – a cascade of internal processes follow. His environmental feeds reengage, and a series of backstage commands act to override his motor paralysis. The simulated world in which he’d been immersed splinters and fades, evicting him from his recent bout of reminiscence and dumping him back into reality.

Disorientated, 9S blinks. And finds himself face-to-face with 2B.

Both of her hands are clutching his shoulders, bleeding warmth and pressure even through the many layers of fabric that separated them. Her breath fans hotly across his cheek. At this distance – or lack thereof – he can make out every colourless strand of her hair, every meticulous stitch of her clothed visor. Most tantalising of all are her lips, which hover mere inches from his own. Were he to rise onto his tiptoes, he will be able to taste them.

But those few inches may as well be an uncrossable chasm. While 2B’s hold on him may resemble the embrace of a lover, she is anything but.

No, today she is his soon-to-be _killer_.

“9S,” she sighs, her voice wavering with a strange, unrecognisable emotion. “You’ve returned.”

“2B.” Warning is evident in the chilliness of his reply. When she makes no move to back away, he tenses his shoulders and grits out, “ _Let go of me_.”

She complies, recoiling from him like he’d just turned into a live wire. Her balancing algorithms seem to fail her in that moment, causing her to stumble a few steps backwards. Could he have imagined it, or was that _dismay_ that had flickered through her expression?

Her retreat is accompanied by a keen sense of loss; already he misses the warmth of her closeness. Ignoring it, 9S asks, “How long was I gone?”

2B straightens, gathering her composure back around herself like a cloak. “Six minutes forty-eight seconds. At first I thought your unresponsiveness was the result of an EMP attack, but there are no machines in the immediate vicinity. Then Pod said…” she drifts off, looking up expectantly at the floating silver-orange bot that is her tactical support unit.

Recognising its cue, Pod 042 supplies, “Unit 9S had entered a voluntary state of suspension to access his memory drive. Analysis: Unit 9S was experiencing an emotion known as ‘nostalgia’.”

At the frank description so typical of Pods, 9S lets out an mirthless snort. “Can’t argue that.”

This prompts 2B to place her hands on her hips, assuming a familiar stern persona. “9S, you cannot afford such distractions,” she reprimands. “We still have a mission to comp—”

“ _What_ mission?” he cuts her off none-too-politely.

“Our target. It resides one-point-two-six kilometres from our current loca—”

“It can stay there for all I care.”

2B compresses her lips into a displeased line. “9S, you are dangerously close to insubordination.”

“ _Insubordination_?” he parrots, incredulous. A laugh bubbles out of him, harsh with cynicism and teetering on the edge of hysteria. “Like that means anything to me now. Why don’t you just _cut the crap already_ , 2B?”

He reaches behind him for the hilt of Cruel Oath, bringing forward the golden katana in one decisive movement. 2B’s immediate response is to spring out of range, landing atop the rusted shell of a van a good ten metres away. Though her gaze is trained warily on his weapon, she does not proceed to draw either of her own.

“You and I both know this mission is a _farce_ ,” 9S snarls, feeling anger blaze red-hot through his circuits. His black box thumps harder, accelerating to a frenetic beat. “An _execution_ , masquerading as recon.”

“I won’t insult you by claiming otherwise,” 2B concedes. Then, in a softer voice that almost sounds like melancholy, she adds, “You were always too sharp for your own good.”

“It was patently obvious, 2B. Or should I say, 2 _E_?” He punctuates this announcement with a brandish of his katana, catching the sunlight on its sharpened edge. “You’ve just received your order to kill me, haven’t you?”

The ensuing silence is answer enough.

“Have you decided how you would do it?” he continues, laying on the irony thick as he speaks. “Stabbing me through the black box is the most efficient way, isn’t it? Maybe from behind, so I wouldn’t see it coming. I don’t know why you didn’t do it before, when I was so busy wallowing in my memories. I gave you the perfect opportunity. Oh well, I guess that’s not an option now.”

Cruel Oath firmly in hand, 9S starts in 2B’s direction, his steps slow and heavy with less-than-friendly intent. “Will you be merciful enough to let me fight back, at least? Give me a scrap of hope that I might somehow make it out alive?"

“But I already know the outcome. The evidence is right in my face: you’ve won every—” he spits out each word with exaggerated venom “— _single. Fucking. Time_. Your model outclasses mine in direct combat by so vast a margin that the comparison isn’t even worth making. So why should I expect this to turn out any differently? It’ll just be another futile struggle.”

He comes to a halt, having narrowed the distance between 2B and himself to a three-metre gap easily traversed in a single lunge. On her perch above him, 2B shifts, tension evident in her stance. But despite his dangerously near – and _hostile_ – proximity, she still refuses to arm herself.

“However you do it, I’m gonna end up dead. _Forgotten_. Another disposable tool in an ever-growing pile of 9S’s past their use-by date. In a few days time you’d be traipsing around with a new 9S, whom you’ll eventually kill as well. And the one after that. And the one after that. Rinse and repeat. A never-ending cycle.” He rotates his free hand in a circular motion for emphasis, and with the other, levels Cruel Oath at his partner-turned-enemy.

“How many times have you killed me, now? Tell me, 2B!”

“I—” she hesitates, visibly taken aback by his question. “I don’t know.”

“ _You don’t know_?” he returns with no small amount of derision. “Don’t you mean to say ‘ _I’ve lost count_ ’?”

Her features, normally so impassive, twist in an unmistakeable grimace. “I didn’t want to count.”

“You’ve betrayed me over and over, and you still won’t own up to your crimes?” He pauses, lip curling into a cruel sneer. “You’re nothing but a _coward_.”

This serves to shatter what remains of 2B’s composure, eliciting a full-bodied flinch from her. “9S, stop it.”

“Why should I?” he counters, watching with dark satisfaction as she cowers under each lash of his verbal onslaught. “You’ve hurt me, as you’ve hurt all the 9S’s that came before me. I’m just returning the favour, delivering our cumulative justice. Are you saying you don’t deserve it?” Fuelled by emotion, his voice escalates to a shout. “ _Because you do_!”

“9S! _Please_.”

Rare though the occasions are that she says it, the meagre word of supplication does nothing to appease 9S’s building rage. “What I don’t get is why you’ve let it come this far,” he barrels onward, tirade in full swing. “You were gonna betray me from the very beginning. Yet you’ve pretended to be my partner. My _friend_. You’ve pretended to care for me. You’ve let me get close to you. You’ve even let me _love_ —” he chokes on the word, an unexpected sob welling up in his throat.

“Was that your way of sneaking under my defenses? Instilling a false sense of security? Was everything you’ve done just a lead up to this event? What about the moments we’ve shared together? _Did they mean nothing to you_?” With each anguished question 9S throws out, his words gain force and momentum until he is all but screaming at the end. “ _Were they all a LIE_?”

In contrast, 2B’s response is quiet, restrained. “No, 9S.” Despondence looms in the hunch of her shoulders, in the descent of every syllable that escapes her lips. “Nothing we’ve had was ever a lie.”

The sheer audacity of her, to make an outright denial to his face—! “ _How dare you_ …” His fingers spasm, clenching so hard around Cruel Oath's handle that the whole weapon vibrates. Peripherally, 9S registers the spike in his black box temperature and pulse rate, for his HUD is now swimming in the red haze of too many warnings. “HOW DARE YOU!”

He leaps towards her with Cruel Oath’s lethal tip outstretched, hell-bent on destruction. There is a flash of silver and a loud clang of metal; 2B had finally drawn Virtuous Contract to defend herself in the intervening second before he made contact. Even though 9S’s thrust carries the full force of his rage behind it, she parries it effortlessly.

“9S, _stop_.”

He lets out another inarticulate battle cry, charging at her again. Again, she blocks his attack – and the incensed flurry that follows it – in a cacophony of sparks and clashing steel, all without striking back. Then she leaps once more, her powerful bound carrying her several metres away, outside the reach of his vengeful blade.

“9S, I won’t fight you!”

“You wouldn’t even give me that satisfaction?” he yells after her retreated figure, slashing at the air combatively. “I never thought you’d be that cruel!”

She stiffens, her sword-arm jerking as she bares gritted teeth at him. “Nines—”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he explodes, words and spittle flying from him in a pure knee-jerk reaction. Taking several ragged breaths that do not in any way alleviate the sudden pain within his black box cavity, he continues, “ _Don’t call me that_. You no longer have that right.”

“ _Nines_ ,” she ploughs on in flagrant disregard of his demand, her tone urgent. “I need you to listen to me!”

“Why? What _can_ you say that would possibly be an improvement?”

“ _This_.” A certain resolve – a _finality_ – settles upon her features. “I have no intention of killing you, Nines.”

“ _What_?”

To drive her point home, she stabs her swords – both Virtuous Contract and its larger counterpart – into the asphalt. With the amount of force she’d put behind the motion, it would require some serious leverage to dislodge them.

Whatever ploy 2B intends to apply against him, it is a high-stakes one. One that has left her unarmed, signifying the irreversible cost of her life were she to make a mistake. For this reason 9S goes still, holding back the expression of his violent, turbulent feelings.

“Did you know I’ve already put in two cancellation requests for this mission? They’ve both been rejected.”

Scanners are known for their intelligence and deductive reasoning skills, but for some reason 9S – the highest-end model of them all – cannot make sense of those words.

“Command has every reason to believe my psychological state is compromised,” 2B continues, oblivious to his lack of comprehension. “And they’re right. I’m no longer fit to carry out this task.”

“Nines.” Her use of his nickname refocusses his attention, slows down his overworking processors. “You believe your time has come, don’t you? That’s why you’re so angry, so hurt. I don’t blame you. But you’re mistaken. Today is not your day of reckoning. Rather, it is _mine_.”

Spreading out her arms in an unquestionable display of surrender, 2B walks towards him. An odd smile forms on her lips.

“You want to deliver justice, Nines? Go ahead. _Kill me_.”

To say that 9S is bewildered at this is an _understatement_. He tightens his grip on Cruel Oath’s hilt, clinging to its solid presence like a physical anchor. “2B, what are you trying to do here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Her smile widens, an empty, blithe thing that bears little resemblance to the rarely seen expression he is otherwise so enamoured of. It unnerves him. But her approach does not falter, each stride bringing her – and that unwelcome smile – closer and closer to him.

All of a sudden, it occurs to 9S that he had taken a step backwards without conscious input. The impulse to take another surfaces, and he forcibly stamps it down. She is the defenseless one here, not him!

“2B, I don’t—"

His statement is interrupted by a faint thump as she collapses onto her knees in front of him.

“You want to hurt me?” she challenges, her voice lilting provocatively as she angles her vulnerable neck towards Cruel Oath’s lethal edge. “ _Do it_. Take my life. Take your revenge. Dish out whatever punishment you see fit. I know it’ll never be enough to atone for the sins I’ve committed against you. But if I can give back even the smallest sliver of what I’ve taken from you…”

There is a pensive shift in her expression, and her tone takes on a self-abasing quality. “I know it’s my fault. It’s my passiveness – my _mindless obedience_ – that’s caused your suffering all this time. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but I’ve finally found the courage to step beyond that. For once in my life, I’m making my own choice.”

“ _Nines_.” It astounds him, how one word can be infused with so much certainty, so much quiet conviction. “I’m giving myself to you. Do what you want with me.”

“Do what I want with you, 2B?” he echoes, as though in a daze. “Anything?”

“ _Anything_ ,” she confirms, her tone far too agreeable.

9S stares at her, his lips parted in an ‘o’ of complete and utter disbelief. Within the space of a minute, his perceptions have been upended. It is indisputable fact that he, trespasser upon classified state affairs, had been marked for death. And it is equally indisputable fact that 2B, his incognito executioner, had been ordered to follow through, thus fulfilling her true purpose.

Yet the tables have somehow turned, transforming her into his willing supplicant instead. 

In the wake of this paradigm shift, the full weight of 2B’s words sinks in. _Anything_ , she’d said. She'll let him do _anything_ he pleases with her.

Does she even realise the _magnitude_ what she’s unleashed?

Although this turnaround had caught him off guard, his anger remains largely unabated. It would be so easy to take 2B up on her offer – to _kill_ her. At long last, he can avenge his many past selves who have fallen to her sword. What a fitting enactment of justice it would be, to thrust Cruel Oath through his murderer’s black box as she’d done to him countless times before.

More poetically yet, he can draw the golden blade across her throat, severing the arteries that carry vital fluids to her android brain and spraying them callously across the ground. Or were he to make it more personal, he can slip his hands around her neck. Choke the life out of her, watch the lights fade from her eyes as she asphyxiates from the trapped heat that accumulates in her artificial lungs.

These temptations are powerful, resonating with the unsung violence that thrums in his circuits. However, there are others still more compelling.

2B kneels before him in voluntary surrender, offering herself up as a temple for his whims. It would be beyond easy – _nigh irresistible_ , really – to take his fill of her, sating both his ravenous hunger and unfulfilled romantic wishes. With this blanket permission in place, he can touch her as he pleases. He can cradle her beloved form in his arms. He can caress that lovely face, brushing his thumb over that distinctive mole on her chin, whispering tender nothings into her ear. He can kiss her, claiming those soft, supple lips that have enticed him for so long.

Or if he so chooses, he can act out his more base impulses. He can strip her down to her skin, leaving nothing between them as he presses against and inside her. He can penetrate her digital framework, vivisecting her psyche and exposing every thought and feeling and motivation that underpins her existence. He can hold her down, render her immobile as he pours into her all of his anger, his frustration, his _pain_. He can sear her with his unrelenting, repeated intrusion, branding her as _his and his alone_ —

They comprise a veritable maelstrom, these conflicting desires of how much he wants to _hurt-kill-kiss-hold-love-fuck-defile-possess_ her—

Though the entire mental spiel had taken no longer than ten seconds, 9S finds himself a trembling wreck in its aftermath. His processors are whirring furiously, his black box pulsing a too-rapid rhythm. There is a fierce energy fizzling through him, electrifying his limbs as it spreads down his spine and between his legs. He's _aroused_ ; he can feel the unmistakeable tightness in his shorts.

Still 2B remains on her knees, gazing up at him. Submissive. Pliant. _Expectant_.

9S takes a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. No, he does not actually relish the idea of her blood on his hands – quite the contrary! It was his despair, his subsequent craving for destruction that gave rise to such an intrusive thought. That notwithstanding, his desire for her is very much _real_ – as evidenced by his body’s reaction even now. But he has no intention of forcing himself on her either. Were they to engage in any sort of intimate encounter, he would want nothing less than her full and explicit consent.

Nevertheless, there _is_ one thing she indisputably owes him, and _that_ is what he will reclaim from her.

Returning Cruel Oath to its electromagnetic sheath behind him, 9S turns his attention back onto his partner. “2B, remove your visor,” he demands, his forcefulness belied by the quaver in his voice.

She obeys without question, untying the black strip across her face. It falls to the ground like banished deceit, revealing her clear, moonsilver eyes. 9S does likewise with his own visor, tossing it aside with a pointed irreverence.

There will be no more lies between them.

He steps forward, closing the remaining distance that separates her from him. His fingers reach out to cup her cheek, drifting down to her chin before taking it in a less-than-gentle grip.

“You remember them, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice rough with still-unappeased emotion. “Every 9S you’ve been with, every 9S you’ve killed.”

2B nods, wariness in her unobscured gaze.

“I want to see your memories of them. Of _me_. I want my memories back.”

There is a protracted pause, filled only with the sounds of their uneven breathing. When 2B finally replies, the words sound like they are wrenched from her against her will.

“If that is what you want… Take them.”

Plain though her reluctance is, 9S is in too agitated a state of mind to pay it any heed. Without further preamble, he opens the hacking interface and plunges into her dataspace.


	4. The Executioner's Past, Part I: Discontent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : More tag additions.
> 
> Credit goes to Conrad6136 for storyboarding with me, and coming up with ideas and details that give this story life. Your unceasing encouragement is a wonderful thing. :-)
> 
> I’ve decided to retcon Memory Cage out of existence as well, since I’m presenting a somewhat different character interpretation of 2B. Speaking of which, there will be a shift to 2B’s POV for the duration of her backstory, which spans 9 of 9S's deaths. (Ha, arc number much?)
> 
> One thing that irks me is how 2B’s love for 9S is taken for a fact. 2B is not the type to fall in love easily, which makes this love all the more precious and meaningful. However, in-game canon and supplementary materials don’t really go into much details about how it began and evolved, and few 2B/9S fanfics fill in the much needed pieces of the puzzle. This is something I'd like to explore in my own story.
> 
> To you, my dear readers, I serve the first course in a grand banquet of heartbreak. Please leave a comment, for those keep me happy and motivated to continue writing. :-)

xxx

**4. _The Executioner’s Past_**

**_Part I: Discontent_ **

xxx

Gleaming with fresh blood, Virtuous Contract protrudes from the chest of 2E’s latest victim.

His corpse lies at her feet, a wreck of extinguished personal data and mangled android parts. YoRHa unit 9S is – or rather, _was_ – his name. A top-end scanner whose excessive curiosity led him to uncover information he was not meant to know, thus resulting in his termination.

A unfortunate fate.

It was clear that 9S hadn’t expected anyone to intercept him during his return trip to the access point. Having just completed his reconnaissance tasks in the machine factory up ahead, he’d come back to find 2E lying in wait. As he took in her coiled stance and drawn sword, a medley of emotions had played across his face, from surprise to trepidation to fear.

Their engagement was a one-sided affair. Scanners were not optimised for combat, and 9S’s stilted efforts at self-defense – a frazzled, easily deflected hacking attempt – proved unsuccessful. 2E had been ruthless, if quick, targeting his black box with pinpoint precision. There was no sense in drawing out the fight; not only would it reduce mission efficiency, but also cause unnecessary and prolonged suffering.

As her blade skewered him, ripping a jagged path through bone and wiring and synthetic entrails, 9S’s features had contorted in horrified agony. The sight was one 2E never did grow accustomed to, despite the countless lives she had taken. Equally unpleasant was the choked gurgle that accompanied it. Then he’d crumpled like a marionette with its strings severed, whereby she’d lowered his still-impaled form to the ground.

A few seconds later, Pod 042 confirmed that his black box signal had gone offline.

With a practised flick of her wrist, 2E extracts Virtuous Contract from 9S’s mutilated torso. She proceeds to bend down, wiping off the bloody evidence of their ill-fated encounter on his jacket. Task complete, she slings her katana back into its electromagnetic sheath before turning towards the silver-orange bot that floats beside her.

“Pod, open a direct channel to Command.”

“Affirmative,” Pod 042 obeys, projecting a holographic screen in midair. Within it, the stony face and elaborate blonde hairdo of YoRHa’s leader shimmer into view.

2E’s left hand drifts over her breast in an automatic salute. “Commander,” she greets, “this is YoRHa unit 2E reporting in.”

“Unit 2E,” the Commander acknowledges with a nod, returning a salute of her own. “What’s your status?”

“Objective complete. YoRHa unit 9S has been terminated.”

“Good work, 2E.” The compliment is delivered without inflection, flat as the Commander’s facial expression itself. “There will be a reward prepared for you when you return to the Bunker. End transmission.”

The projection concludes with a snap of static, vanishing from sight. In the ensuing silence, 2E feels a familiar, hollow ache take up residence within her black box cavity.

Though minimalistic, her exchange with the Commander falls within normal expectations. It represents her typical social discourse: brief, concise, devoid of pleasantries or warmth. This is the way of things. A foregone occupational hazard. For who would engage one so skilled at killing for more than strictly business? Who would willingly befriend her, knowing the unsavoury acts she had committed?

Thus alienated, 2E had defaulted to solitude. Interacting with others and forming bonds would not be conducive to her purpose, anyway. Demoralising though the status quo may be, it is easier to push herself forward rather than confront the futility of her plight. 

(But try as she might, she cannot stave off the ever-pervasive loneliness, which would emerge from the darkness to gnaw away at her—)

Unwelcome melancholy aside, the mention of a reward kindles a spark of interest inside her. Rare are the occasions that 2E receives one. Despite the challenges it presents, terminating her fellow soldiers tends to be a thankless job. So it is for one unchecked moment that 2E allows her mind to wander, speculating what the reward will be—

The thought process is quashed before she can muster even the smallest inkling of an idea. How appallingly self-indulgent of her. Such pointless musing is not for the likes of executioners.

That’s right. She is YoRHa unit No. 2 type E, an executioner unit. Duty and servitude form the basis of her existence, for she lives only to carry out the will of YoRHa and bring glory to mankind. But unlike the valiant, dazzling battlers, she operates under the shadow of YoRHa’s uglier side. Her specialities include the infiltration, subjugation and assassination of her own people. As befits such tasks, she’d been programmed with a cold, pragmatic and singleminded personality. This is who 2E is, nothing more.

(She will _never_ be anything more.)

Which brings her back to the subject of her most recent kill.

She gives 9S’s corpse another glance. His is but one of many sacrifices for the greater good. Yet hope is not lost for him. Memory notwithstanding, his top-end status guarantees him the privilege of rebirth. Perhaps a few days from now he will be reassembled on the conveyor belts of the Bunker’s factory press, given another chance to start afresh. Nevertheless, it is 2E’s sincerest wish that he won’t revisit the same mistake, lest he end up in this unhappy predicament once more.

Crouching down, she unties 9S’s visor to reveal his unblinking, glassy eyes. They comprise a beautiful colour: the brilliant azure of the sky. If only they weren’t staring into the cold, lifeless void—

With delicate fingers, 2E presses down on his eyelids, closing them. Having taken his life in so callous a manner, the least she can offer him is this gesture.

She bows her head, lips moving as she composes a silent epitaph:

_We take pride in our service, YoRHa unit 9S. May your next life shine bright._

Awash in solemnness, 2E shifts her suddenly leaden limbs as she rises to her feet. It is with heavier than usual steps that she makes her way back to the access point. The wind whispers a forlorn lament after her departing figure, and eddies of dust stir in her wake.

  


* * *

  


_From now on, your task is to observe YoRHa unit 9S, and if necessary, carry out his termination._

It is rare enough that 2E receives repeat assignments, which makes a _permanent_ one all the more unprecedented. Should any unit be problematic enough to warrant ongoing disciplinary action, they would eventually reach the end of YoRHa’s patience and face decommission. And 9S is nothing if not problematic. Discounting other executioners – whose kill counts comprise information to which she is not privy – 2E had already sentenced him to death three times. However, his multiple resets have not curtailed his self-destructive tendencies in the slightest.

Perhaps his usefulness to YoRHa outweighs the cost of his repeated manufacture and instatement?

Whatever the case, it was 2E who’d been selected to rein in 9S’s incurable waywardness. To facilitate this task, she’d undergone partial reformatting into a battler model. Being trailed by an executioner unit would give _anyone_ cause for suspicion, let alone a highly intuitive top-end scanner.

Fortunately for 2E, there is significant overlap between executioner and battler models. So the transition, while awkward and even disagreeable at points, is not altogether alien.

(Regardless, she will take it all in stride and without complaint. Because she lives to serve.)

As part of her functional changeover, her YoRHa ID and main routines have been switched accordingly, and her anti-unit capabilities buried under a layer of suppression code, to be brought to the fore as needed. Tweaks were made to her combat programming to accommodate allied fighting and an expanded arsenal. Only her executioner’s limiters remain unaltered, augmenting her strength and processing power far beyond those of the average battler.

Appearance-wise, she is quite different, having exchanged her sleek stealth suit for an eye-catching dress and stockings. Of the changes, she finds this one most discomfiting. Not only does it leave her more exposed than ever, it has also taken away the anonymity of her killer’s mask, something from which she’d drawn substantial comfort.

If hard-pressed, she would admit to another gripe: the requirement to wear stilettoed boots. The range benefit granted by the extra height is negligible, and they even require new balancing algorithms to offset their inherent instability. In short, they are completely impractical, serving no function other than to look good. (Though prevalent among the general android populace, the concept of vanity is by and large foreign to her.)

In her new role, she will play the part of any other battler. Which means that on top of her executioner’s duties, she will also handle a battler’s workload, which encompasses the full gamut of field activities: small-to-large scale machine engagements, reconnaissance, client escort, resource collection and delivery. As opposed to her previous directive where she answers orders from the Commander herself, she will go through an intermediary, Operator 6O. (Naturally, the operator will be apprised of her true designation and assignment.)

This gives rise to another necessity: her integration into YoRHa’s social framework, which proves the most daunting challenge of all.

As they frequently run in teams, battlers tend to be gregarious. The lone wolf traits that have served her well as an executioner only prove a hindrance here. As such, her behaviour table has been adjusted to interpret and respond to social cues, but she has yet to put this into practice. (As much as she would like to explore her newfound freedom from isolation, she doesn’t know _how_.)

Metamorphosis complete, she is now all but indistinguishable from a battler unit. 2B is her new name. Her latest _lie_.

And with lie solidly in place, 2B sets out to apprehend 9S for the fourth time. There is a mission they are about to embark on together, the perfect setup for his execution.

She strides through the Bunker’s whitewashed corridors, trying and failing to ignore the incessant clicking of her new heels. Pod 042 had scoped out 9S’s location: twenty metres away and rapidly decreasing with the force of her approach. She spots the scanner just as he exits from his room, the airlock sealing with a hiss behind him. A cursory ID scan reveals that he is indeed YoRHa unit No. 9 type S.

During her previous assignments, 2B had never paid particular attention to her targets. The only requirement was that she recognised them. What with the ID scan decisively confirming their identity, she'd never needed to look beyond the correct approximations of height, build and facial appearance. (Clothing, she supposes, would be another distinguishing trait, were it not for the fact all YoRHa soldiers wear standardised uniforms.)

This time however, 2B takes a proper look at the one she is ordered to kill.

9S is short and slender of build, modelled after a boy in early adolescence rather a full-grown human male. (This suits his scanner designation, as fleet-footedness is preferred where retreat more often proves a wiser course of action than not.) His hair is bleached white like hers, trimmed back at the eyes and ears. Though his YoRHa-issued visor shields his eyes from view, his face is so open that it might as well not exist.

It strikes her how small and innocent he looks. Not someone accused of the crime of forcing their way into YoRHa’s main server, surely? Rather, he has the appearance of someone who should be protected.

She gives an inward sigh. How ironic it is that _he_ should elicit any kind of protectiveness within her, given the atrocity she is about to visit upon him.

Having registered her presence, 9S turns in her direction. His face lights up as he recognises her, prompting him to close the remaining distance between them.

“Hi ma’am!” he greets her in a high, sweet tenor. His voice is pleasant, even calming in spite of its excitability. “You’re YoRHa unit 2B, correct?”

She nods in response.

“The name’s 9S,” he continues, thumping his chest with his left fist in some sort of misappropriated salute. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

He extends his other hand towards her. There is a split second of indecision where she fails to interpret the gesture before her processors scramble to redress her – _friendly intent_ , that’s what it means. She takes it.

Like their human predecessors, androids also generate body heat, though the extent to which they do is noticeably less. At temperature homeostasis, they hover around the thirty degree Celsius mark. Even so, there is something about 9S that 2B registers as _warm_.

“I’ve never had a partner before,” he natters on, releasing her hand. At this, 2B registers an unexpected – and therefore disconcerting – sense of loss. “Scanners like me usually work alone. This will be different, but I’m looking forward to it!”

Ever the dutiful soldier, 2B gives him the mission debrief. Her delivery is professional, icy even, but 9S reciprocates with his full and undivided attention. Interest is evident in the tilt of his head and the way he dances on the balls on his feet. Why, he even sees fit to make frequent injections of his own commentary:

“Wow, we get to use _flight units_? Never thought they’d grant such an awesome privilege to us grunts!”

“A Goliath-level machine near the main encampment? We’ll need to take care of that, stat!”

“So it likes to set up EMP barriers, huh? Nothing a little hacking won’t fix!”

They surprise her, the mannerisms of this 9S. His enthusiasm is nothing short of blinding, and she can barely keep up with his chatter (complete with energetic gesticulations). He brims with vibrant, irrepressible _life_. Although 2B has never looked into the sun – for the UV radiation will damage her retinal components – the comparison fits him.

“Let’s do our best, ma'am!”

At the end of it, 9S gives her _his_ smile, a conflagration bright as a supernova. It stirs something within her that she cannot quite identify, a hint of gratification, or perhaps even _longing_? In the next instant, she crushes the feeling back into nothingness.

Emotions are prohibited.

They gear up and proceed to the hangar, where their flight units await them. After strapping themselves into their respective pilot seats, they assume control of the aerial vehicles. Then the exit hatch opens, and their jet engines activate, propelling them into the reaches of space.

As the blue planet comes into view, Pod 042 notifies 2B of an incoming transmission from 9S. She accepts it.

“The Earth looks so beautiful from up here, doesn’t it?” he remarks, unabashed wonder in his voice.

2B does not reply.

 _Unit 9S must not be permitted to disembark on Earth_ , echo the Commander’s words to her earlier. _Shoot down his flight unit if you must. I will incur the costs._

As if on autopilot, 2B searches the user interface for the artillery command, and presses _fire_.

A salvo of missiles rushes out towards 9S’s flight unit. There is a huge explosion upon impact, sending fiery plumes and dismembered metal chunks flying in every direction. In the aftermath, only a charred wreckage remains. It crumbles into and is consumed by the thermosphere, where it fades into invisible embers.

The entire affair was over within the space of ten seconds. Another life ignominiously snuffed out. Another mark in the ever-growing tally of sacrifices for YoRHa’s noble cause. Another stain upon 2B’s nonexistent conscience, which is choosing now of all times to make an appearance—

It occurs to her that she hadn’t heard 9S scream. Even if he did, the sound would’ve been lost to the void of space. There is nothing to mark his passing, no lingering evidence to indicate that he has ever lived. Only the wraith-like afterimage of his destruction survives, emblazoned forever into her memory.

A strange, uncomfortable sensation floods 2B’s abdomen, churning her mechanical innards. Her breathing stutters, her lungs struggling against the too-tight confines of a ribcage that has seemingly collapsed. She tastes bitterness on the back of her tongue. 

_Guilt_ , her information databanks tell her. Guilt describes what she is experiencing.

With the ruthlessness for which her true executioner’s nature is renowned, she quashes the feeling, forcing an artificial calm into its place. Emotions are prohibited—

And so, having obliterated her very first and only partner, 2B completes her lonely, silent descent to Earth.


	5. The Executioner's Past, Part II: Remorse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Here, have another helping of tragic backstory. And so 2B’s living nightmare begins…

xxx

**5. _The Executioner’s Past_**

**_Part II: Remorse ___**

__

__

xxx

__

It is with a distinct feeling of _apprehension_ that 2B reads through her latest email.

She braces one hand against the cool metal surface of the access point, fighting to quell the sudden tremors that seize through her frame. The other is pressed above her mechanical gut, where an unwelcome twisting sensation has taken root. Something akin to disbelief grips her, forcing her eyes down to and across the text once more. But her visual and language processors do not lie. No number of rereads will change the cruel absoluteness of Command’s instruction.

The time of reckoning has come. Again, 9S has transgressed. Again, 2B is to act as the instrument of YoRHa’s will and deliver fatal judgment upon him.

This is her true task all along.

Much too soon, the lead-up part of her assignment is drawing to a close. It has been twenty-nine short, almost idyllic days. Twenty-nine days of traipsing around the planet on tenterhooks, wondering when the decisive kill order will arrive. Twenty-nine days of trying out her new mission repertoire like a newborn fawn on unsteady legs, savouring the respite from her executioner duties. Twenty-nine days of interfacing – albeit awkwardly – with Operator 6O, android civilians and people _other than the Commander_ , where exchanges amount to more than unpleasant business transactions.

Twenty-nine days of having someone by her side.

It constitutes both blessing and nuisance, having to account for another person – a _partner_. 9S knows not to impede her in the thick of combat; instead, he provides support from afar. But while 2B may benefit from his keen observational and hacking skills, she also has to endure his tireless chatter and irksome antics (like his tendency to explore every imaginable distraction). He is optimistic to the point of recklessness, a burst of too-bright sunshine against the dark cloud of her severity.

Furthermore, 9S’s friendly overtures are never-ending. Time and time again, he would try to engage her in conversation about non work-related matters, or express unnecessary concern over her well-being. She either has to ignore him or shut him down, lest their relationship trespass beyond strict professionalism. After all, it makes little sense to invest (prohibited) sentiment in someone whom she will eventually kill.

But as annoying as 9S’s presence often proves to be, 2B cannot deny that it is… _nice_.

 _“Hey, 2B?”_ prompts a familiar, disembodied voice. It belongs to her mind’s version of 9S, who materialises alongside the kaleidoscopic fragments of a recent memory—

  


* * *

  


Caught in the lull between missions, 2B and 9S found themselves with an interesting quandary: _what to do with the excess free time?_ To fill in the disconcerting gap, 2B succumbed to uncharacteristic leniency and accepted one of 9S’s less farfetched ideas. So they hiked through weathered, grey-washed streets, into a gloomy lobby and up several flights of stairs. This situated them atop the roof of the highest building in the city ruins. (Of which the vertical height was all of _ninety-eight_ metres, according to 9S's excited analysis.)

Though their excursion was of a recreational – as opposed to _productive_ – nature, it’d brought them to an excellent lookout, 2B conceded. From here, she could see the rickety wooden bridge suspended across the canyon and the jagged, rocky cliffs surrounding the desert entrance. Between those two points spanned the rest of the metropolis, where barren concrete gave way to the green foliage and sprawling limbs of nature’s overgrown reclaim.

The sky painted a brilliant blue backdrop against 9S’s silhouette, and his pale hair fluttered in the breeze. Daredevil that he was, he had seated himself right at the rooftop’s edge. 2B, who possessed a stronger sense of self-preservation, stood a safe distance away.

As 9S swung his dangling legs, 2B wondered, not for the first time, how he could stand to be so close to the precipice. All it would take was one balancing misjudgment, and he would careen over and plummet to his death. While their Pods helped to mitigate falls, they weren’t able to catch every sudden, unanticipated movement. Why would YoRHa not program him with proper risk assessment?

Still, there was something to be said about living so dangerously and without inhibition, even if 2B herself couldn't stomach the idea—

“Hey, 2B?” called out the subject of her musings, cutting them short. He’d modulated his boyish tenor to a lower pitch as to carry.

2B tilted her head in his direction. “Hmm?”

“I just wanted to say… I’m glad we’re partners.”

She readjusted her folded arms. “Oh? What brought this on?”

“Just sitting here, looking out at the world. It’s such a magnificent view, isn’t it?” For emphasis, 9S stretched out his right hand and swept it across his line of sight. “And the best part? I get to share it with _you_.”

Recognising this as yet another one of his bonding attempts, 2B gave an inward sigh and tried for nonchalance. “That’s nice, I suppose.”

But 9S paid her half-hearted deflection no mind. “Before you, I was all alone,” he continued, swinging his legs once more. There was an odd, sombre quality to his words – _this_ caught her attention. “It makes me realise how wonderful it is to have company. Maybe you’re uh, not what I expected, but it doesn’t make me any less grateful that you’re here. I really enjoy being with you.”

He twisted around to face her, and she detected something _intent_ behind the black barricade of his visor. “I’d like to know… Do you feel the same way, 2B?”

She stared at him for a moment, unfurling her arms and letting them fall to her sides as she turned over the question.

The answer was an unequivocal ‘yes’.

Despite her initial misgivings, 2B had acclimatised to 9S’s presence. He’d become someone familiar, someone _important_. His voice was a soothing balm upon the listless void of her thoughts, and she drew comfort from the surety that he would watch her back and stand by her side. It may be unwitting on his part, but he’d also taken on the mantle of her guiding light, her shield against the cold, oppressive loneliness. Perhaps, in her unspoken gratitude, she’d descended as far as to nurse an inkling of (all-too-forbidden) _affection_ for him.

But however true the affirmative – however _compelling_ it was to give 9S what he so obviously sought after – 2B couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Her vocal cords would not cooperate. Saying ‘yes’ would not only represent a breach of protocol, but also an declaration of wrongdoing. Thus finding herself at a loss, she defaulted to her standby statement:

“Sentimentality is prohibited.”

At this, 9S let out a brief chuckle, but the sound contained more wistfulness than mirth. “I should’ve known you’d say that.”

Dusting imaginary lint from his shorts, he pushed himself away from the edge and rose to his feet. As he closed the distance between them, his lips quirked up in a smile. It was a bright, cheery thing, filled with his indomitable spirit. The sight kindled a strange warmth within 2B’s black box, as though the permafrost that once encased it had somehow melted away.

“Still, if you’d like to change your answer, do let me know, okay?”

  


* * *

  


Unfortunately, 2B never did find the opportunity to do as 9S had asked – to reveal her sentiments to him. She never has and never will.

For their time together has come to an end.

While they may hold the illusion of roaming free, every executioner’s target will eventually reach their expiration date. 9S is no exception. He hadn’t even been 2B’s partner for a _month_. And now she will lose him, by virtue of snuffing out his life with her very hands.

This stirs an _unrest_ inside her, a seething malevolence that burns through her circuits like acid. Teeth gritted in a rictus snarl, 2B steps away from the access point. Her hands ball into fists so tight that her fingernails bite into her gloved palms, cutting off circulation and triggering the first pinpricks of pain.

Goddammit, _why_?

Why is 9S so infuriatingly curious? Why can’t he control his impulses? Why must he always seek out the forbidden in his quest for knowledge, poke around in things that he shouldn’t? What good is his scanner’s keen intuition if he fails to realise that his actions would result in his death every time?

But even as 2B fumes with the desire to heap the blame on him, she knows the truth. 9S is bound by his curiosity, held fast by its inextricable chains. It is an integral part of his personality matrix, woven into the very foundation of his existence. Though it may doom him, 9S has no choice other than to carry out its dictates and enact his pre-programmed behaviour.

Just as 2B has no choice other than to kill him.

Such is their fate. Ever unchanging, ever inescapable. There is no use in trying to solve unsolvable problems.

To regain her composure, 2B takes several deep, fortifying breaths and forces her hands to loosen. Then she recites the rhetoric drilled into her since her first manufacture, which had kept her going through her lifetime of soul-destroying bloodshed:

_It will be worth it in the end._

2B, 9S, every YoRHa soldier who’d lived and died – they are united in the same purpose: to pave the way for humanity’s victory. One day, they will strip down the the enemy machine network, overthrow their forces and win the war. One day, they will enter a long-awaited era of peace, where executioners are obsolete and 2B won’t be forced to kill anymore.

In this bright, hypothetical future, 2B can scrub herself clean of her dark past and in the process, earn her redemption. She can extend her apologies to those who have fallen to her sword, 9S in particular. Perhaps he and she can start over, even befriend each other for real. Because their meetings will no longer be a preface to another execution.

Yes, _this_ is a future worth fighting for.

But until that day arrives, 2B will continue to do YoRHa’s dirty work. Her hands have already been stained with the blood of countless sacrifices. What’s one more?

She turns her attention back to the present. According to Pod 042’s latest report, 9S had already gone on ahead, scouting the sewers as per their joint mission objective. Good. This gives her enough time to prepare herself and shut off her pointless, uneasy feelings.

As though anticipating her orders, Pod 042 drifts into 2B’s direct view from its typical position above her shoulder. The orange-silver tactical support unit is her steadfast companion, the silent witness to her life of atrocity. While it may not be capable of warmth or the finer nuances of emotional expression, it would never judge her.

“Pod,” 2B commands, “engage anti-unit mode.”

“Affirmative,” Pod 042 replies in its mechanical monotone, inputting a series of commands to start up her changeover sequence. “Initiating radio-wave camouflage and disengaging ID signal. Activating short-range battle support.”

The process takes no more than a few seconds, and 2B feels the delineation between her battler guise and her true executioner’s nature melt away. Like a palpable weight, the changes settle into place, heavy and condemnatory.

With a decisive sweep of her heel, 2B takes flight across the grassy field, ignoring the various wild boar milling about. Soon enough, her feet carry her onto concrete pavement and into a cul-de-sac, where the manhole leading into the sewers awaits.

It is time to do this.

Gathering her courage, 2B catapults into the gaping entrance, descending the ladder one rung at a time. As her stilettoed soles hit the bottom with a splash, she finds herself staring into the gloom. Her torch toggles on and her visual sensors assess the light intensity levels, recalibrating accordingly.

The short, slight form of 9S comes into view. From the way his features light up, it is clear that he has been waiting here for a while. His impatience is evident as he shifts from foot to foot, and his hands fidget with what appears to be a iron pipe.

“Heya, 2B!” 9S greets her cheerfully, twirling the pipe before snatching it into his right hand. “‘Bout time you got here! I was getting boooored,” he draws out the vowel in his typical childish manner.

Were the situation less dire, 2B would’ve given a snort. Of course 9S is _bored_.

“Sewers are just the worst, huh?” he continues. “Can’t believe Command sent us _here_ , of all places. The smell is enough to make anyone gag – not that we even have a gag reflex, ha. At least I found _this_!” He stretches out his occupied hand, presenting the pipe to her. “Though I’m not sure what we’d do with—”

His chatter comes to an abrupt halt as he detects the tense shift in her stance. “2B, what’s the matter?”

Instead of replying, she draws Virtuous Contract and levels it in his direction.

Understandably alarmed, 9S jumps back and raises his palms in a reconciliatory gesture. The pipe falls to the ground with a loud metallic clatter. “Whoa, _whoa_ , 2B! There’s no need for that! I’ve scouted the entire area; there aren’t any machines nearby.”

Again, 2B does not reply. Without further warning, she lunges at 9S, prompting him to draw Cruel Oath to fend off her attack. There is a resounding _clang_ as their swords meet, and 9S buckles under her superior weight. Then he propels himself backwards, shock and indignation plain on his face.

“ _What the hell_ , 2B?” he yells. “What are you trying to do, kill me—”

His expression transforms into horror as realisation dawns upon him.

“Oh god. _Oh god_ , they’ve sent _you_ after me.”

2B brandishes Virtuous Contract, pointing it at 9S like the tool of judgment that it is. “YoRHa unit 9S,” she announces, her voice empty of inflection. “You’ve hacked into the main server without permission and perused several data files beyond your access rights. This counts among the most severe violations of YoRHa protocols. Therefore Command has ordered your termination and subsequent memory reset.”

“2B, please!” 9S cries, shaking his head. “It was all a misunderstanding, I swear!”

“Are you denying it?”

“Well, I'm not s-saying t-that—”

“Because it’s pointless,” she overrides his stuttered reply. “There is documented evidence of your misconduct. Pod 153 has reported no less than four hacking breaches seventy-six hours ago.”

9S turns towards his own Pod, a red-black analogue of Pod 042. “Pod, you did this—?” he inquires of the floating bot, his voice trembling with horrified accusation.

In its higher-pitched monotone, Pod 153 returns, “Affirmative. This unit’s directive is to report all of unit 9S’s activity to Command, especially unauthorised access of the main server. Multiple warnings advising against this action were provided, yet none were heeded.”

“ _Shit_ ,” the expletive leaves 9S in a heartfelt mutter, a fitting descriptor for his circumstances. “I didn’t leave _that_ much of a trail; I thought I could get away.” _This_ he says under his breath, as though directing the words at himself.

“So you _do_ admit it.”

9S expels a heavy, troubled sigh. “You’ve already caught me out, here.” Then he flips his free hand, exposing his wrist in a show of sincerity. “But is it really so _wrong_ , what I’ve done?”

“I’m not here to engage in moral debate, 9S,” 2B counters, pushing aside his troublesome question. “It ends now!”

She follows up her exclamation with another lunge. 9S barely brings up Cruel Oath in time, parrying her attack. They continue in this fashion for the ensuing series of strikes, with 2B advancing and 9S on the defensive. Her strength outstrips his by an overwhelming margin, and the longer they fight, the weaker and less effective his parries become. Though the racket of metal clashing against metal is deafening, 2B can make out 9S’s increasingly laboured breaths, his numerous hisses through clenched teeth.

Eventually, he attempts to hack her. The telltale golden glow appears for a brief second before winking out. While 2B _did_ feel an unwelcome brush against her mind, the attack was so haphazard and panic-stricken that it’d simply glanced off her firewalls.

At this, 9S staggers several steps back, out of immediate reach. “2B,” he manages to get out between pants, “please stop!”

Not expecting this demand, 2B freezes in place.

“2B, please… _stop_.” Bracing the point of Cruel Oath against the ground, he leans onto it for support. Silence permeates the next few seconds, broken only by the ambient sounds of running water and 9S’s ragged breathing. “I don’t… I don’t want to fight you!”

To emphasise his point, 9S brings up his free hand to his visor and tears it away, revealing fear-widened eyes. Aided by her torch's illumination, 2B can see that his pupils are dilated, black nearly engulfing the surrounding blue. “Look at me! Look into my eyes! You can see that I’m not lying, can’t you?”

2B shakes her head. 9S's display of vulnerability does not lessen his complicity in his crime – or the punishment it entails. “9S, you know I must do this.”

“But—but we’re partners!” he protests, his anguish becoming more pronounced with each word. “We’re supposed to fight together, not against each other!”

“Orders are orders.”

“So that’s it— _that’s_ how it is?” he chokes out in an unmistakeable sob, his eyes over-bright with sudden moisture. “Do I mean _nothing_ to you?”

Discomfited by the question – not to mention 9S’s mounting distress – 2B pauses for a moment before answering. “What you mean to me is _irrelevant_ , 9S. You’ve—”

Her statement is cut short as 9S pulls back his arm and tosses his only means of defense. Cruel Oath slams against the sewer wall several metres away, clattering in the same noisy fashion that the iron pipe did before.

“There, proof of my surrender!” he declares, spreading his arms wide and showing his empty palms to her. “We both know I can’t win. I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against you! So I’m not even gonna try.” 

He lets his hands droop to his sides, where they clench into fists. “But I don’t want to die either. I don’t want to lose my memories!” Amplified by his all-too-obvious desperation, 9S’s voice rises to a wail in that moment. Then it quietens, adopting an unsteady, _raw_ quality. “You’re my first partner, 2B. The first person I’ve ever been with. I don’t want to forget our time together. Every moment was _precious_ to me.”

Taking a wobbly step in 2B’s direction, 9S proceeds to collapse before her, his folded knees making a loud slap against the water.

“ _Please_. Please 2B, don’t do it.”

He is openly crying now, his narrow shoulders trembling as coolant spills from his eyes and runs down his cheeks. The sight arrests 2B, makes her black box seize painfully against her ribcage. It is beyond _awful_ to see him – a proud YoRHa soldier – reduced to this.

“Please 2B, I’m _begging_ you. If I ever meant anything to you, _anything_ at all—“

He cuts himself off with a whimper as she takes a step towards him. Then another, and so on. The more the distance between them shrinks – culminating in her being no more than an arm's length away – the more 9S's shaking intensifies. His breathing assumes the erratic pattern of hyperventilation, shallow and rapid.

Still he blinks up at her, his fearful, watery eyes alit with a plea. A faint glimmer of _hope_.

Hope that she is about to extinguish permanently.

2B forces herself to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat. “ _9S_ ,” his name falls from her lips in a tremulous whisper, a disyllable wasteland of regret. “Forgive me.”

Before he can formulate a reply, she shoves Virtuous Contract through his chest.

A pained gasp escapes him, and the sound echoes through the corridor, as sharp and incriminating as it would be had he screamed instead. 2B’s blade had met with the expected resistance as it sunk into him, tearing out various layers of his insides in its quest for destruction. Though she is altogether too familiar with the experience, the viscerality of the killing blow does not fail to disquiet her.

Worst of all is the accusation, the utter _betrayal_ that flares in 9S’s naked eyes. It pierces 2B right to her core, as though _she_ were the one who’d just been run through.

Blood dribbles out from the corners of 9S’s mouth, mingling with his tears.

“2B, w-w-why—?”

Unable to bear the moment any longer, 2B clamps her fingers tighter around Virtuous Contract’s hilt and _twists_. 9S spasms at this, his torso contorting as he gives a faint grunt of pain. Then his eyelids flutter shut, and he slumps forward onto her sword, unmoving.

“Black box signal for YoRHa unit 9S confirmed offline,” Pod 042 drones dutifully into the silence, its words gravid with finality.

2B releases the breath she doesn’t realise she’d been holding. As she withdraws her blade, 9S’s unsupported body crumples, hitting the water with a loud, almost obscene, splash.

There is a powerful, crushing weight that presses on her chest, making breathing as difficult a chore as it is painful. Her black box pulses an uneven rhythm, each beat a needle-sharp ache. Her throat feels raw as though it’d been subject to friction burns, and heat prickles at her eyelids.

For a full half-minute, 2B blinks down at 9S’s body, fighting to contain her bodily responses. Then she dips her sword into the flowing current – she _refuses_ to wipe it on 9S’s clothes – before sheathing it, contemplating her next course of action.

Someone will come to clean up the mess afterwards, salvage 9S’s broken parts. But she will not leave him in the middle of the waterway like this, limbs scattered about him in an undignified sprawl. Like he was a mere _animal_ she’d unceremoniously put down.

Uncaring of the bloody stains it would leave on her clothes – they are dyed _black_ for a reason – 2B gathers 9S’s corpse into her arms. He is lighter than she expects. So small and fragile. So _lifeless_ , cruelly robbed of the vigour that characterised him and filled him not mere minutes ago.

Unbidden, the words tumble from her lips:

“I’m so sorry, 9S.”

Precious cargo in tow, 2B plods down the corridor until she reaches a fork in the path. Here, she lays 9S down, propping up his slackened body against the wall and folding his hands into his lap. What with the blood smeared across his face, there is no way she can pretend that he is simply in rest mode. So she rests a gentle hand atop his hair and allows herself one final glance, before pushing everything out from her mind.

By the time 2B steps away from him and heads towards the exit, she has become emptiness itself. Yes, she is abiding by YoRHa’s universal ban on emotions. But the reality of the matter is something far more personal:

Emotions are just too _painful_ for her to handle.


	6. The Executioner's Past, Part III: Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : This chapter got so massive that I’ve decided to split into two. It also proved to be quite the challenge to put together, as there are several disparate plot points that I needed to weave into the single narrative. Hence my shout-out to Conrad3136, who provided some great ideas, and especially Dreamfang, who supported me through this process.
> 
> Here, have some 2B/9S shippiness – before the ship crashes and burns. And without further ado, I present…

xxx

**6. _The Executioner’s Past_**

**_Part III: Uncertainty_ **

xxx

9S does not _remember_.

Made stark under the glare of the Bunker’s harsh fluorescent lights, his face is the blank canvas of oblivion. Not the slightest flicker of recognition crosses it as 2B strides towards him, marking the shrinking distance between them with distinctive clicks of her stilettos. Instead, her approach seems to intimidate him, if his ill-concealed fidgeting and unsteady gaze are any indication.

The reason is clear: 2B is no longer 9S’s partner. She has regressed to a mere stranger, and the reverse can be said as well.

That’s because their history – those too-brief twenty-nine days together – has been erased from 9S’s memory banks, purged in the fires of Command’s unholy judgment. Now, it is 2B alone who bears the burden of remembrance. Only _she_ recalls the smile and chatter and warmth of the previous 9S – a 9S who no longer exists. Nothing will ever come of the sentiments he’d expressed to her, much less those of which she still owes him.

This knowledge _hurts_ like a dagger to the heart.

Nevertheless, 2B must soldier on. So she comes to a halt before the newest 9S, an unknown quantity wrapped in the illusion of someone she’d once held dear. Her visored eyes sweep up and down his figure before settling on his face, where apprehension is laid bare on too-familiar features.

No, 9S does not remember and never will. For _that_ is the way of things.

Ignoring the ache in her black box cavity, 2B raises her left hand to her breast. “YoRHa unit 9S,” she addresses him as commanding officer to subordinate, pronouncing his title with an undercurrent of authority.

9S practically jumps in his haste to return the salute. “Hi ma’am!” he greets back, all squeaky nervous deference. “You’re YoRHa unit 2B, correct?”

Upon hearing this, a strange, prickling sense of unease washes over 2B. (Which, according to her information databanks, is the feeling known as _déjà vu_.) 9S had greeted her with those exact words a few lifetimes ago. Are they already preordained to go through the same motions?

In an almost involuntary imitation of her past self, 2B nods.

“It’s an honour to meet you,” 9S continues in more moderate tones, letting his saluting hand fall away as he extends the other towards her. “If I’m not mistaken, we’ll be partnered for our next series of missions?”

With rather less awkwardness than her first attempt, 2B accepts the proffered hand. 9S’s grip is a little unsure, but reassuring in its warmth. “That’s right.”

Social necessity attended to, 9S pulls back and presses gloved knuckles against his chin. “It’ll be a new experience for me, having a partner. Scouting enemy lines doesn’t typically require more than solo work.”

Again, the same lines in different words. Here, 9S is less enthusiastic, more reserved. _Wary_ , even. Perhaps the fear in his previous self’s final moments had somehow bled across to this incarnation?

Then, a divergence:

“Have you had a partner before, ma’am?”

“I have, yes.”

9S lowers his hand, and his gaze follows suit, alighting on his boots. He appears to be debating with himself. To her lack of surprise, his curiosity emerges the victor. “How did _that_ go?” he blurts out after a few seconds.

It would be a lie to claim that she didn’t expect the question, and yet… “It—” 2B hesitates, a soft sigh escaping her. “It did not end on good terms.” Such an _understatement_.

9S’s visored eyes fly back to hers in an instant. “I—I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice gentle with sympathy. “I hope, for your sake, that our partnership will be a happier one.”

Oh, what cruel _irony_. Already he expresses so much kindness for his future murderer, so much optimism towards a doomed fate that he himself would reenact. But she cannot tell him that.

“Likewise.”

This elicits a satisfied nod from him. “Well then. Shall we proceed to the access point, ma’am?” He pairs his suggestion with an ushering motion of his hand.

“9S,” 2B tries for a rebuke, but it ends up sounding like resignation instead, “don’t call me ma’am.”

9S’s mouth pinches into an apologetic, if confused line; he doesn’t understand _how_ he had misstepped. “Okaaaaay, if you’d rather I not do that? I meant no offense, really! It just doesn’t seem appropriate to address you directly by name, so I—”

“It _is_ appropriate,” 2B interjects, reacquainting herself with 9S’s tendency to ramble. It gladdens her to know that _that_ part of him hasn’t changed. “ _2B_ will do. There’s no need for formality.”

Of the words she had chosen so far, these ones have a miraculous effect on him. All at once, the anxious energy that had pervaded him throughout their entire encounter dissipates. His lips quirk in a familiar smile, bright and full of the vivaciousness that is uniquely _9S_.

“Sure thing! 2B it is, then.”

He steps into line with her, and together they head to the access point. After seeing to a number of last-minute preparations, they travel to Earth via transporter, where they embark on their first joint mission.

Thus 2B’s journey with 9S begins anew.

  


* * *

  


One thing is for certain: starting all over again presents quite the emotionally taxing challenge.

As a creature of habit, 2B draws comfort from familiarity and established patterns. She is well-ensconced in the ways and mannerisms of the previous 9S, for which she’d built an extensive mental catalogue. Perhaps it is unreasonable to be possessive of him – someone who is nothing more than a _memory_ – but she cannot help it.

She wants her old partner back.

Being paired with someone else throws 2B off-balance. This is exacerbated by the fact that her new partner is so very similar to the one she knew, yet different. As she draws comparisons between the two, 2B would find small, irksome inconsistencies. His behaviour would not exactly match what she’d anticipated, be it in his choice of words or gesticulations.

More disconcerting yet is the memory dissonance. There are too many occasions where 2B absently references a past conversation, only for 9S to tilt his head in confusion. Or where she performs a certain combat manoeuvre in the assumption that he would follow up, only for him to try something else.

It makes her feel the loss more keenly.

Maybe she is wrong to impose her expectations of the previous 9S upon the current one, as though he is a mere substitute – or worse yet, an _usurper_ – rather than his own unique person. But this represents a moral dilemma with no solution. Old or new, 9S’s default personality data is fixed, allowing for expression of the same quirks and proclivities with ever-so-slight variations. Therefore, the odds are high that he would revisit the same path his past self had.

In any case, her hang-ups are immaterial. Because 2B’s desire for 9S’s companionship supersedes any sense of reluctance or wrongdoing.

But it is not a simple matter of picking things up from where she’d left off with his predecessor. She must reconstruct everything from scratch. Every smile and word and gesture that comprised the building blocks of their former closeness must be painstakingly re-gathered and reassembled.

It is a daunting task. Fortunately, 9S is more than happy to meet her in the middle. Oblivion has not diminished his eagerness to forge a connection between them.

Hence, in her desperation to reclaim the same level of familiarity as before, 2B relents. Puts up less resistance against 9S’s advances. Accepts his well-meaning sentiments and on occasion, even returns them. Allows him to bypass the realm of strict professionalism into something warmer, more intimate.

Something called _friendship_.

  


* * *

  


“2B, I know you’re not the most, uh, sociable person,” 9S tells her one afternoon, twenty-three days after their first meeting. He and she are en-route to their next mission destination, a secluded temple in the woods. The sunlight is trickling through the canopy above, where it scatters into various shades of green across the leaf litter.

“So it means a lot to me when you called me your ‘friend’ the other day.”

There is a crunch of broken twigs as 2B halts mid-step, nearly causing 9S to stumble into her.

Trust him to bring _that_ up. It had been a slip-up, her absentminded response to his clever verbal trap. Qualifying their relationship within the privacy of her mind is one thing, but making an outward admission is another. In short, she needs to be more careful with her words.

But even as 2B thinks this, the other side of her – which has emerged with 9S’s growing influence – _mutinies_. How liberating would it be to let go of her inhibitions, toss caution to the wind?

Heedless to her contradictory thoughts, 9S circles around her until they are face-to-face. Then he reaches out, taking her hand with surprising boldness. The unexpected contact jumpstarts her circuits, sending a frisson up her arm.

“I’d like for us to stay friends forever,” he continues, his boyish tenor rich with earnestness. She doesn’t need to see his eyes to know that they are shining up at her. “Hey, why don’t we make a pact? What do you say, 2B?”

She gives a grunt of disapproval, but this fails to dissuade him.

“Okaaaaay, if you don’t like that idea… Maybe we can exchange gifts instead? Friends give each other things, don’t they?”

“The act of gifting is unseemly and presumptuous,” 2B retorts, deciding that a spoken answer would better serve to curtail his wayward ideas. “What if the other person doesn’t want what you’ve picked out for them?”

“It’s the sentiment behind it that counts,” 9S argues, shaking his head. “You’re showing them that they mean something to you.”

He places his free hand atop hers, cradling it between his own. “I wanna show you that _you_ mean something to _me_.”

Glad for the visor that shields 9S’s emotions from view, 2B lifts her gaze from their joined hands to meet his.

Her first instinct is to refuse. It would set a poor precedent if she encourages him further. As the human idiom goes, give someone an inch, and they will take a mile. Were 9S permitted to behave in a more familiar manner towards her, he would most certainly cross the line into impropriety.

On the other hand, she has no right to deny him this. How can she take his choice away from him, after having already deprived him of his life multiple times?

Paralysed by indecision, 2B says nothing. But 9S does not push her for an reply. Perhaps he has already gleaned it, by choosing to interpret her silence as implicit agreement.

Nevertheless, these troubling thoughts are swept to the sidelines as 2B refocusses on their mission, and those that come after. Time forges inexorably onward. As they approach the twenty-nine day count, 2B is filled with rising dread. Would 9S make the same mistake as his predecessor and bring their partnership to a premature end once more? But they cross that threshold without incident, to her quiet relief and quieter triumph.

Then, on day forty-one, the topic of gifts makes a reappearance.

  


* * *

  


Rucksack of materials in tow, 2B navigates to the entrance of the savannah Resistance outpost at which she and 9S are currently stationed. After an intense skirmish three days ago as part of an ongoing pest-control assignment, they have returned here for maintenance and resupply. 2B had emerged from the fight in a better condition than 9S, who’d required concentrated attention from the local medic.

In the interest of reciprocity, 2B agreed to run a fetch errand or three. Gathering resources may be a menial task for an advanced combat model like herself, but she finds satisfaction in the simple and honest work involved. She likes being productive. If her efforts benefit and build up the community, all the better. Such represents a welcome change to the destruction she reaps all too often.

Given the midday hour, there are only a handful of Resistance members milling about, the rest having departed for off-site jobs. Extracting the requisite parts from her rucksack, 2B sets them down in front of her client, a weathered-looking android woman called Pelican. After engaging in a brief exchange, in which she receives a small sum of G and several words of gratitude, 2B scans the surroundings for her partner.

It appears that 9S had migrated from his cot to a chair around the wooden desk in the corner. His hands are fiddling with a scrap of black cloth – his visor, which was damaged in their earlier engagement. Upon hearing her approaching footfalls, he turns towards her. Unaccustomed to the sight as 2B is, 9S’s blue eyes – vibrant as the sky above them – still come as a shock.

She draws a chair beside him and folds herself into it. “Hey, 9S.”

“Hey, 2B,” he returns with a small smile. “I take it that your latest errand went well?”

“Yes. Even though the payout didn’t amount to much, the work itself was rewarding.”

“Never took you for a gopher,” he quips, amusement evident in his voice. “I guess you like helping out people, huh?”

“It’s only polite, since they assisted us with our repairs,” she states simply, crossing her arms. “It’s also important to build working relationships with members of the Resistance.”

There is a definite twinkle in his eye. “Whatever you say, 2B.”

She elects to change the subject. “How goes your repairs?”

“Nearly done,” he replies, giving a satisfied little nod. “Finch, the medic, has done a really _awesome_ job. My main systems have recovered to nominal functioning capacity. The structural damage in my left leg is almost completely reversed; it just requires some micro-repairs. I’ve received a fresh injection of nanobots to replenish my depleted levels. Guess I’ll need to sit around for a bit longer to let them work their magic.”

“In the meantime, I’ve been studying this thing.” He turns his attention back to his visor, wrapping one of its trailing ends around his fingers. “Y’know, I’ve never appreciated all the intricate technology that’s gone into it – until I’ve _broken_ it, that is. Downloading the technical manual wasn’t a problem, but I don’t have the tools to repair it. Nor does anyone around here. Guess I’ll just have to ask for a replacement.”

“There’s no need to worry about it,” she reassures him. “Command will simply dock the cost from your mission payout.”

An unhappy noise escapes him as he slumps onto the table. “Visors don’t come cheap, do they?”

“Afraid not.”

He twists his head towards her, lips set into a pout. “Aww man, that’ll set me back. And I was _this_ close—” he untangles his hand from the visor, making a centimetre gap between thumb and index finger “—to upgrading my stun chips…”

The urge to give him a consolatory pat on the head surfaces, but she pushes it down. “You’ll get the funds eventually.”

“Eventually is not ‘soon enough’. Eh, whatever.” Pulling himself upright, he throws his hands up in a shrug. “No use angsting over it.”

Unhooking the shoulder strap of his knapsack, he brings the storage compartment into his lap. As he tucks the broken visor inside, a strange expression comes over his face.

“That reminds me,” he mutters, shoving in his hand deeper to rummage through the contents. “2B, do you remember the discussion we had a few weeks ago? I uh, I got something for you.”

“Oh?”

He retrieves what appears to be a inch-broad strip curved into the shape of a horseshoe. While it must contains a backbone of some stiff material, its exterior is made up of black fabric not dissimilar to the visor he had put away half a minute ago.

2B tilts her head curiously as he holds it out towards her. “What is it?” she asks, taking the object and exploring it between her fingers. Yes, that’s a metal backbone all right, but not one thick enough to renounce elastic properties. “Does it have a practical purpose?”

“It’s a headband,” 9S elaborates. His gaze is trained on her, laden with both expectancy and nervousness. “A hair accessory, for uh, enhancing your looks.”

2B sets the now-identified headband down on the table like it had somehow offended her. “I have no use for decorations,” she says in a flat tone. “They will only get in the way and impede mission efficiency.”

Silence blankets them for the next few seconds, broken only by noises of Resistance activity in the background. Intent on extricating herself from the suddenly awkward situation, 2B plants her feet and pushes back her seat. However, any further movement is forestalled as 9S grabs her around the elbow.

“2B, can you just… _humour_ me this once, okay? Please?”

Upon catching sight of his expression, 2B goes still, her black box lurching against her chest. 9S’s lips are peeled back to reveal gritted teeth, and the pinch of his brows casts his otherwise brilliant eyes into shadow. He looks exasperated, but more so, _hurt_.

Unsure of how to respond, 2B flattens her mouth into a uneasy line.

“I know you don’t have a great opinion of anything that isn’t practical in nature,” he continues in plaintive tones, squeezing her arm in a grip that borders on uncomfortable. “But I’ve thought really hard about this. We YoRHa soldiers already have every tool at our disposal to perform our duty. Weapons, chips, upgrade mods – those can be obtained at any time. So I figured I’d get you something different. Something _special_ , from me to you.”

Exposed as they are, it is impossible not to see the sincerity in 9S’s eyes. His admission was no less sincere – not to mention well-reasoned – and together, they serve to _move_ something within her. Maybe she was too impetuous in dismissing his gift out of hand.

“If that’s the case,” 2B says, picking through her words with slow deliberation, “I will accept it.”

Releasing her elbow, her partner expels a heavy breath. “Thank you, 2B.”

She frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you instead?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting out a chuckle that contains more relief than actual mirth. “I guess we got it the wrong way ‘round.”

Picking up the simple, unassuming object that has brought about so much strife, 2B proceeds to stare at it. “9S, I don’t know how to wear this thing.”

“Is it okay if I… put it on for you?” he offers, the opposing forces of hesitation and eagerness ostensibly fighting for control over him.

She hands it to him without further delay. “Go ahead.”

Accepting the headband from her outstretched fingers, 9S rises to his feet. Then he takes a step into her immediate vicinity, bumping his knees against hers. It is only through force of discipline that 2B keeps herself from recoiling. The last time they’d been _this_ close to each other, she was in the midst of running her blade through him.

Searching for a distraction, 2B focusses on his golden sheen of his jacket buttons, which are now scarce inches from her face. Then she feels the rounded ends of the headband dig uncomfortably into her scalp; 9S doesn’t seem to have a proper handle on it. The pressure lessens after a moment, accompanied by his grunt of frustration.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be so clumsy,” he blurts, ducking his head sheepishly. “I’ll just get rid of these gloves; they’re so thick you can barely feel anything through them.”

He shucks off said gloves in record time, throwing them unceremoniously onto the table.

“That’s better. Now, I should be able to get this on properly…”

9S’s voice trails off as he continues his ministrations – with rather more success this time. It is a foreign, but altogether too _pleasant_ sensation as his fingers splay across her crown, parting her hair in gentle motions. If they are lingering perhaps longer than they should, 2B pays no notice, for she has suddenly found herself preoccupied with curbing the strange impulse to lean into his touch.

After what feels like an eternity – but cannot be more than a minute in reality – 9S sets the headband in place.

“There we go.” He gives her a final, almost reluctant pat, then lets his hands fall away as he pulls back to admire his handiwork. “How does it feel?”

2B tilts her head from side to side, testing the effects of the accessory’s new presence and weight. It doesn’t appear to disrupt her sensory feeds or balancing calibrations. “It’s fine.”

“That’s good to hear,” 9S murmurs, his voice suddenly descending a whole octave in pitch.

He is still standing too close to her, having yet to step outside her personal space. In inquiry, 2B cranes her neck back and meets 9S’s gaze with her own. What she encounters is something she could never have anticipated, not even within the realm of her most fantastical projections.

9S’s eyes are positively aglow, burning with the intensity of blue flames. The sight arrests her, holds every particle of her attention in thrall. She does not recognise the emotion behind that heated look, but there is a mesmerising, almost _otherworldly_ quality about it.

“2B, I—” 9S’s aborted statement shatters her trance. He swallows hard, the pendant of his choker swaying with the movement.

“What is it, 9S?”

He seems to be deliberating over what to say. When he speaks, his words come out hoarse, nearly strangled. “I’m just… struck by how _pretty_ you are, 2B.”

If possible, his eyes burn a brighter blue. Cured of her mental haze, 2B uploads the image to her information database, which draws up an approximate match. The look 9S is currently giving her is not unlike that of a predator eyeing its next meal, but without any voracious intent. There is something purer about it, if no less primal.

Then comprehension clicks. The emotion in his eyes is not hunger. It is _want_.

9S _wants_ her.

2B’s breathing comes to a momentary stop, and her auditory sensors pick up the sudden, overloud pounding of her black box. In a dizzying turnabout, she feels naked under 9S’s gaze. Vulnerable. _Helpless_.

An urge take roots inside her, spreading virus-like until it overrides every logic circuit, every rational thought.

_She must get away from him._

In an abrupt flurry of movement, 2B rises from her chair and shoves 9S away, eliciting a surprised yelp. Then she retreats two steps back, which establishes a more reasonable distance between them. With self-preservation instincts at the fore, she angles her body away from him and folds her arms.

Now that some measure of breathing space had been restored, 2B feels her processors slow down enough to reassess the situation.

No, she will _not_ consider the ramifications of her earlier epiphany. There is nothing good that will come out of that. It will not do to let 9S’s feelings towards her – whatever forbidden nature they might take – ruin their arrangement, their perfectly functional partnership. And it will _not_ do to instigate any further attachment to her if all she does is _kill him in the end_ —

Resolve settling into place, 2B fixes her gaze upon 9S, who bears a current state of bewilderment. “Being ‘pretty’, as you put it,” she asserts, her tone harsher than usual, “serves no purpose.”

9S’s face crumples at this, and he huddles into himself. “I’ve gone too far, haven’t I?” His voice is quiet, forlorn.

 _Yes, you have._ “Emotions are prohibited, 9S.”

He stays uncharacteristically silent. Weighed down by his too-powerful sentiment, the headband atop 2B’s crown grows heavier and heavier until it becomes an unbearable burden. She reaches up with the intention of removing it, but 9S forestalls her once again, barreling forward to snatch her sleeve.

“2B,” he entreats, tugging on the fabric. “Can you please just… leave it on for now?”

The earlier heat in his eyes has been doused in its entirety, replaced by a sheen of unshed tears. It reminds her all too painfully of his predecessor’s final, _wretched_ moments, begging for his life. But the circumstances are not the same, and her discomfort does not comprise an adequate reason to refuse so paltry a request.

“Very well,” she concedes, lowering her hand. “I will keep it on – _for now_.”

9S’s heart-wrenching gaze softens. There is a mollified curve to his mouth, not quite happy enough to be a smile. “I appreciate it, 2B.”

Mindful of their still-fresh conflict, he lets go of her sleeve and steps away. As silence whisks into the gap between them, another realisation occurs to her. However much 2B would prefer to pretend it didn’t happen, the dynamic between her and 9S has changed irreversibly, if only by virtue of her becoming aware of his feelings. It is like a sight that cannot be unseen, an unearthed truth that cannot be re-buried. While she cannot – _will not_ – allow this to affect their future proceedings, returning to the days of obliviousness is no longer possible.

This realisation is more than she can handle at the moment, so 2B redirects her focus to the unfinished business at hand. Voluntarily or not, she has managed to embroil herself in this... _gift exchange_ with her partner. Maybe things will fall into place once she meets him on equal terms.

“9S,” she calls out, causing his subdued form to perk up. “I have yet to fulfill my side of the exchange.”

He casts wide blue eyes at her. “You—you don’t need to get me anything,” he says meekly, then lowers his gaze to his now fidgeting hands. “Well, actually… It’ll be nice if you can give me a nickname.” These words come out in a near inaudible mumble.

It doesn't surprise her that he has already given the matter considerable thought. Trust him to request a _nickname_ , of all things. “Are you not satisfied with your name?” she queries.

“ _9–S_?” he prompts in a louder voice, enunciating the alphanumeric designation. “It’s the name of my model. It’s not something unique.”

“Do you wish to be unique?”

Something of his usual obstinance returns as he straightens to meet her gaze. “I wish to be unique _to you_.”

 _Of course._ “I see.”

“The people around here seem to be named after birds,” he goes on. “As I've already mentioned, the medic who’s taking care of me, his name is Finch. The guards over there,” he points towards the outpost entrance, indicating the two burly looking gatekeepers, “they’re Osprey and Buzzard. The main carpenter, appropriately enough, is called Woodpecker.”

“Would you like to be named after a bird?” she offers, following the obvious train of thought.

“Uh, not really… I don’t think we YoRHa units will ever be free enough to be birds.” _This_ , he says with a note of wistfulness as he glances up at the sky. Then he returns his gaze to her. "But you get the idea, right?”

She nods. “I think so. Give me some time, 9S. I will come up with something.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his lips curl into a smile. In the wake of their emotionally charged discourse, it lacks his typical sunniness, but expresses _9S_ all the same. “I look forward to it.”


	7. The Executioner's Past, Part IV: Helplessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Warning – much sadness ahead.
> 
> Here’s the second half of the chapter. I’m not sorry to say it’s all downhill from here. _To be_ is to suffer. (Sorry, that bad pun is completely warranted in this case.) The final scene was incredibly difficult to write, as you might imagine. By the time I was satisfied with it, I’d already gone through 3 different drafts, each more heartbreaking than the last.
> 
> In _Memory Thorn_ , 9S observes that 2B attempts to deflect his attention from the Commander (lest he start the chain of events that leads to his termination). This is my interpretation on how such an attempt might have transpired.
> 
> Also, a shout-out to Aloice for letting me borrow and repurpose her idea about the origin of ‘Nines’.

xxx

**7. _The Executioner’s Past_**

**_Part IV - Helplessness_ **

xxx

Coming up with a nickname for 9S is surprisingly difficult.

Not that 2B can claim the task is beyond her. While creative thought may not be a predisposition of hers – like it is for 9S – it does not lie outside the confines of her programming. Nevertheless, the fact remains that she is a _combat_ android. Gauging physical threats, eliminating them, and maintaining her cool through it all are the things 2B does best. She has never had reason to deviate from the above and expand her mental horizons.

Until now.

It would be grossly incorrect to call herself ‘philosophical’, but the nature of names gets 2B thinking. What curious things they are. A handle by which a person identifies oneself and have others identify them. A defining yet involuntary characteristic. That’s because names are often picked out by the owners’ progenitors rather than the owners themselves.

2B and 9S are YoRHa models. Military units created with the express purpose of winning the overlong machine war. Their alphanumeric designation denotes this, distinguishing them from other androids. It strips away their human element – what crude mimicry there is – for they are merely weaponised commodities to be manufactured and replaced over and over.

Maybe that’s why 9S wants a nickname: so he can regain the aforementioned human element. So he can be _more_ than a weapon – at least, in 2B’s eyes.

Alas, she is unfamiliar with the brainstorming process. Her untrained imagination proves more hindrance than aid, here. So she studies the naming conventions of earthbound androids and their communities, hoping to draw inspiration from them.

As established before, birds do not comprise a suitable nickname for 9S. But neither do flowers, or gemstones, or cloud formations. Try as 2B might, she cannot associate him with things so mundane, so _pristine_. For flowers and gemstones and cloud formations fail to capture the contradiction that is _9S_ : a too-cheerful scout with a bloodstained smile, vacillating between innocent optimism and bleak recklessness every time he enters and exits his life cycle.

So the days meander past, but 2B has yet to complete her task. And despite the gift exchange having brought the matter of his inconvenient feelings out into the open, 9S is no more demonstrative than usual. 2B’s reprimand must have sunk in, forestalling any further (and inadvisable) action from him. But it doesn’t appear to be far from his mind. Every so often, he would glance up at the headband – which has somehow evolved into a permanent fixture atop her crown – before looking away, an air of satisfaction about him.

In the midst of all this, another complication arises. Halfway through their assignment, 2B and 9S make a brief return to the Bunker to deliver a full status report. Ever since, 9S has become… _moody_ , for the lack of a better term. He still plays the part of the energetic scanner, but 2B has observed above-normal levels of distraction and restlessness. This comes to a head on day fifty-eight, where things take a turn for the worse:

  


* * *

  


There is a tap on 2B’s right shoulder, which interrupts her current conversation with the resident fisherman, aptly named Kingfisher. She turns around to find 9S hovering behind her, posture unusually stiff as his gloved fingers clench and unclench the fabric of his shorts.

“2B, can I talk to you for a bit?” he asks. His voice sounds brittle, as though one misplaced word would cause it to overstretch and shatter. “In private?” he adds, giving her conversant a pointed look.

Kingfisher glances at 9S, then back at her. He raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “Go hear him out, missy. We can continue this anytime.”

Righting his slouch against the wall, the fisherman dips his head at 2B and saunters by 9S on the way out. He claps the scanner’s shoulder, eliciting a startled jolt. “Good luck, kid.”

The remark makes 9S stiffen further, and pink blossoms across his cheeks. There appears to be animosity in his gaze as he watches the other android’s departing back – though for _what_ reason, 2B has yet to figure out.

“Let’s head out for this,” he says after a moment. The tension thrumming through him has relaxed a fraction, but its presence is no less distinct.

“Of course,” 2B replies.

9S guides her outside the outpost’s fenced boundaries, into the surrounding savannah. Bleached yellow by the sun, the knee-length grass rustles as they trudge through it. This discolouration extends through the better part of the plains, breaking out into the occasional wind-carved tree or rock formation. Above them, the sky is an expanse of brilliant, uninterrupted blue. To 2B’s odd (and unvoiced) regret, its likeness can no longer be seen within 9S’s eyes, for he had replaced his visor after their sojourn to the Bunker.

Short though it may be, their trek is rife with mounting anticipation. Not a single word has left 9S’s mouth since departing camp, which now resides a good hundred metres away. It appears 2B would have to make the first move, break him out of his taciturn funk.

“What do you want to talk to me about, 9S?”

Her partner turns away from a nearby boulder to face her. “Well,” he starts, grasping his hands in obvious apprehension, “there’s something that’s been bugging me for a while now. Truth is, I’ve already approached the relevant party about it, but that’s done nothing but aggravate the problem. If only it weren’t such a sensitive subject. I’d really like to get another opinion…”

“You want _my_ opinion?” she prompts.

“Yeah, I guess?” he mumbles, his fingers tumbling over each other. “You’re my partner, the only person I trust, so it’ll be great if you could uh, hear me out…” he trails off and looks down at his hands, which he stills with visible effort.

Patience has never been 2B’s virtue. “Just _say_ it already, 9S,” she sighs. “I’m listening.”

Straightening, 9S sucks in a loud, preparatory breath. “Okay, here goes... I have reason to believe that Command’s hiding something. Something important, something _huge_.”

The mental equivalent of alarm bells goes off in 2B’s head. She does _not_ like the sound of this. “What makes you say that?”

“The Council of Humanity is the one supposedly giving us instructions, right?” 9S posits, launching into his explanation. “They represent what’s left of mankind, sequestered on the moon. But what is mankind—” he throws out his right palm “—and what are humans?” then the other, before closing one fist and tapping it against his chest. “I _know_ we’ve been created in their image. But not as their equals. Rather, we’re their servants, their soldiers. Our entire purpose revolves around helping and protecting them.

“But they’re no more than an abstract concept,” he continues, his words and gesticulations becoming more emphatic the further he proceeds. “ _Mythical_ , even. Though the Bunker has been operating for a number of years, we’ve yet to see a single human set foot on it. The moon base isn’t _that_ far away. So why wouldn’t they come to visit us? Wouldn’t it make sense for them to interact with us directly at some point? If we can see and hear and touch them, wouldn’t that give us a more tangible reason to keep on fighting? So why are the only things we’ve received from them those bland motivational broadcasts?

“When I raised these questions with the Commander a week or so ago, she wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” Here, 9S tucks his left arm under his right, which he elevates in order to grasp his chin. A grave expression comes over his face. “So I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s a whole lot more to this. Something potentially nefarious.”

“What do you think, 2B? Do you agree with me?”

There is something expectant behind 9S’s visored gaze, as though he awaits none other than her confirmation. Unfortunately, he is mistaken in this regard.

Throughout his monologue, the lump of unease that had taken up residence in the pit of 2B’s mechanical stomach grows until it becomes full-blown nausea. So the seeds of suspicion have already been sown. Lest 9S reap them and instigate his own demise, 2B must derail him from this train of thought _immediately_.

“9S, I’m sure there are reasons behind it all. Maybe the humans haven’t visited us because they _can’t_. There are many things beyond our comprehension. We’re not meant to know everything. Only the Commander can see the whole picture, and that’s why she’s the ultimate authority.”

It appears that her answer is not enough to convince him, for 9S tucks his arms more firmly together and flattens his lips. “That just seems like a convenient excuse.”

“We’re _soldiers_ , 9S,” 2B asserts, falling back on a default statement. “Our directive is to follow orders, not question them.”

“And I’m a _scanner_ ,” he argues, defiance creeping into his tone. “Finding out things is what I do.”

“You’re not planning to investigate this matter further, are you?”

Having framed the proposal as to highlight its absurdity, 2B only finds herself dismayed by 9S’s reply. “Of course I am! You can’t seriously expect me to leave this alone, can you?”

“I _cannot_ recommend this course of action,” she counters, planting her hands on her hips. “It goes well outside your work requirements.”

“I’m not doing this for _work_!” he proclaims, unfurling his arms and holding them stiffly at his sides. His hands, she notes, have balled into fists. “I’m doing this because I wanna know what’s _really_ going on!”

2B’s fingers twitch against her hip. It is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure. “As I’ve already stated, some things are not meant for us to know.”

9S pounds his fist against his chest. “Well, I’m making it _my_ business to know!”

“That’s—” 2B cuts herself off, clenching her jaw. Her processors whir furiously as she attempts to formulate a different angle of attack. “As your superior,” she tries again after a moment, imbuing her words with all the authority she can muster, “I _order_ you to stand down.”

“Are you for real?” 9S cries, making an indignant swipe through the air. “Since when do you pull rank on me?”

“Since you refuse to listen!”

In response, 9S steps forward, reducing the distance between them until they are barely inches away from one another. Then he angles his shoulders back and tilts his chin up at her challengingly. Though obscured by his visor, the heat of his glare is palpable.

“You realise you’re only making me more determined to do this, right?”

Red flashes across her HUD, warning of elevated stress levels together with pulse and respiration rates above acceptable range. 2B ignores it. She will not be cowed by 9S’s show of aggression – of outright _disobedience_.

“Even if it means infringing on unauthorised territory?”

“ _Especially_ because of that!” 9S affirms, practically vibrating with fury. “If this information is barricaded behind top access levels, that makes uncovering it all the more crucial!”

2B’s arms jerk forward of their own accord before she forcibly aborts the motion. It _overwhelms_ her, the urge to seize 9S by his narrow frame and shake some much-needed sense into him.

“9S, listen to me!” she demands in a near-shout, unable to restrain her escalating vocal output. “The consequences for this kind of infraction are extremely dire! You’d risk having your all permissions and privileges stripped away. You could be terminated. You could even have your memory fully wiped!”

“And what would you know about consequences?” 9S matches her raised voice with his own. “If anything, I’d say you’re a little _too_ well-acquainted with those!”

Her chest constricts; 9S had struck _hard_ by volleying her argument back at her. Unbidden, images of his impaled, bloodied corpse fills 2B’s mind, followed by the blissful, oblivious smile of his newborn self. She gives her head a vigorous shake to dispel them.

“9S, I am imploring you.” Desperation turns her normally even voice into a ragged echo of itself. “Please, _don’t_ do it.”

Instead of mollifying him, her plea only serves to fuel his suspicion, reinforce his stubbornness. “I’ve never seen you resort to pleading,” he remarks, shaking his head in turn. “And you’re pleading about _this_ , of all things? Why are you so determined to turn me away? What are you trying so hard to hide? Don’t tell me—” his voice takes on a breathless, accusatory quality “—you’re actually in cahoots with Command? Are you part of this conspiracy too, 2B?”

Blindsided by the alarming change of direction – because it’s true, _all too true_ – 2B struggles to respond. “I…”

9S’s mouth reforms into an ‘o’ shape; he is growing more horrified by the second. “Oh god, you’re not even denying it.”

This prompts 2B to reclaim her wits. “Now you’re just jumping to the wrong conclu—”

“Am I, 2B?” he interjects, lips twisted in an ugly sneer. It seems like their quarrel has reached critical point and broken a dam inside him, causing hidden resentment to spill out in a torrential diatribe. “Looking back on things, it’s clear you were always hiding something. Always keeping everyone at arm’s length, as though you’re afraid of getting too close, revealing too much. Always pushing _me_ away, no matter how hard I tried to connect with you! This is why, isn’t it? It’s your deep, dark secret, whatever your role is in Command’s nefarious plot.”

“That—that’s not true—”

“Don’t _lie_ to me!” he cuts her off once more, punctuating his statement with a furious smack of his fists against his thighs. “You think I can’t tell whenever you’re lying? All this time, I’ve only let it go because I’ve trusted you, because I thought we were _friends_.” His voice quavers; she can hear the hurt amidst the anger. “But that was just a cover-up, wasn’t it? To keep me quiet and complacent. _Unquestioning_.”

Emboldened by his rage, he leans in close enough that she can feel his hot breath ghost across her cheek. “What sort of friend hides such secrets from another? What sort of friend keeps _lying_ to the one they profess to care about?”

“9S, _please_ —”

He pulls away, restoring the gap between them with a horrible, icy sort of finality. Though less than a metre now separates them, he has somehow become as unreachable as the humans on the moon themselves. “I’m gonna find out the truth. And no one’s gonna stop me. Least of all, _you_.”

“9S!”

He turns on his heel, making to leave the scene. Before he can so much as take a step, 2B reaches out and seizes his forearm. But her frantic effort proves futile, for he removes her hand with such violence as though that fleeting bit of contact had burned him.

“ _Don’t touch me_!”

At his vehement hiss, 2B rears back, clutching her breast. It is astounding how three simple words can devastate her so, as if they have formed a figurative spear by which to lance through her black box.

9S pays her reaction no heed. A tense, protracted second later, he storms off, leaving overloud rustles and strewn plant matter in his wake.

As his departing figure shrinks further and further into the distance, 2B’s still outstretched hand falls to her side. Tremors wrack her whole body, and a suffocating heat engulfs her throat and face, pressing with especial insistence on her eyelids.

One thing is clear to her: _she has lost 9S once again_. In a single fell swoop, everything that 2B has worked to hard to rebuild is decimated, crumbling into ashes around her.

How many times will she and 9S be forced to repeat this soul-destroying cycle until her dreamed-up future – in all its beautiful, picturesque whimsicality – arrives to whisk them away? Does this future even exist anymore? Is there truly any salvation awaiting her at the end of this misery-paved road?

Unanswered, her questions scatter into the wind like dust, wanderers without a destination.

Alone in a field of desiccated grass, 2B collapses onto her knees. She buries her face into her palms, fighting the urge to weep.

  


* * *

  


9S is nowhere to be found when 2B returns to the Resistance outpost. In all likelihood, he has departed for the nearest information storage facility to conduct his illicit data-mining activities. Tempting though it may be to chase him down, his earlier rage is evidence enough to indicate that further intervention will be fruitless.

So 2B dutifully remains at her station, deflecting with curt replies any questions about her partner’s sudden absence. Four days later, she is called back to the Bunker and redeployed via flight unit to a small, uninhabited island in the mid-Pacific. Upon disembarkment, Pod 042 notifies her of an direct text transmission from Command.

It is 9S’s termination order.

Of course it is. Of course this decision comes to pass as per the predetermined cosmic script. Of course time will push 2B and 9S towards the same bitter ending, whatever illusion of a divergent path they may have tread.

It is utter foolishness to hope otherwise.

2B is a fool.

_Fifty-nine hours ago, YoRHa unit 9S made four unauthorised hacking attempts into the Bunker’s main server, whereby he accessed a minimum of eighteen files containing S-level confidential information. Furthermore, he has misappropriated a flight unit and descended to Earth in an attempt to escape, landing at various locations. This constitutes a fourth-degree security breach. Therefore, your instructions are to find and eliminate him ASAP. His last activity has been traced to your current whereabouts._

This message appears directly on her HUD, its condemnatory black text flashing right before her very eyes. No wonder it upends her, leaving 2B floundering in the sea of her own helplessness. Having failed to prevent the chain of events that culminated in this order, she has no choice but to follow it through.

As 2B finds herself spiralling down into the depths of despair, inspiration suddenly strikes.

YoRHa unit No. 9 type S. That is _his_ name, the official model title of her permanent monitoring assignment-turned-cherished partner-turned-assassination target. For brevity’s sake, he is referred to as 9S. _9-S_ rolls off the tongue easily enough, what with it containing only two syllables. However, if the alphanumeric symbols are converted into spelt text, Nine-S, it becomes clear that his name can be shortened further, by conjoining the ’s’ and pluralising ‘Nine’.

 _Nines_. There is no nickname more simple, more _perfect_. It does not makes any false pretenses. However earnestly 9S may aspire towards something more – something other than the adept soldier who he is – he cannot escape the fact that YoRHa will always be part of him. Yet _Nines_ separates him from the uniformity of production line identifiers, marking him as his own person.

At long last, 2B can bestow upon 9S a gift, that which he so desires. If only events hadn’t already progressed this far. If only she hadn’t already run out of time.

A flicker of movement re-engages her visual feed. 2B watches as Command's message scours itself from her HUD, receding into the blank space whence it came. Commanding her Pod, she switches to anti-unit mode with fluid ease, not unlike a chameleon reverting to its default colours.

It is time to do this – again.

As it transpires, 2B does not need to trek very far to find 9S. He stands in the middle of a forest clearing, a dash of sombre black amidst lush sunlit greenery. There is an anticipatory tension to his stance; he has detected her presence. In her heightened state of emotion – which not even well-honed discipline can override – she had not bothered with stealth.

2B draws Virtuous Contract as she steps into attacking range, causing 9S to turn towards her. Stripped from his face, his visor hangs loosely from his right hand, set aflutter by the mild breeze. Red paints unsightly blotches across his cheeks, mars the delicate skin around his too-moist eyes. With a sharp pang in her chest – never had she known herself capable of _sympathy_ – 2B realises that he has been crying.

9S gives her a cursory once-over, his gaze lingering on the reflective sheen of her blade. “Hey, 2B.” His voice is subdued, hollowed out of its usual exuberance. “The time has come, hasn’t it?”

Although she knows full well the awfulness of their plight, it is so much worse to hear him – the hapless victim – say it aloud. Throat too clogged up to speak, 2B simply nods.

“I should’ve known it would end like this. Serves me right, I guess. Why didn’t I listen to you?” He tosses his hands in a self-recriminating shrug. Then he breaks out into a laugh, a broken, horrible-sounding wheeze of irony and regret. “You tried so hard to stop me. To _spare_ me. Because you really _do_ care for me, don’t you, 2B? You really _are_ my friend, after all.

“I don’t want to die.” Coolant mists over the blue windows of his eyes, gathering at and seeping out from the corners. He blinks in a vain attempt to stifle the flow. “I don’t want to forget you. All those memories of us, together – they’re my most precious treasure.

“But I have to pay the price for my stupidity. My excessive curiosity. It’s just so unfair, you know? If only it were as simple as flipping a switch to stop myself…”

He shakes his head before wiping his face on his sleeve. “What’s done is done. I can’t run; sooner or later I’ll have to face the consequences. In the end, I’m glad it’s _you_ who’s doing it.”

From the way 9S had phrased his ending statement, he hadn’t intended to come across as accusatory. Nevertheless, guilt bubbles within 2B’s gut, hot and unpleasant. “9S, I’m sor—”

“Don’t be,” he cuts off her apology, white brows pinching together. His tone takes on a darker cast as he continues. “It’s not like you have a say in the matter. You’re just following orders. That’s what you’re designed to do. Just like I’m designed to find out things I’m not meant to know. It’s our own fucked up destiny.”

He lets out a heavy breath. “Despite everything – and all that _shit_ about prohibited emotions can go to hell since I won’t be alive at the end of this anyway – I still like you, 2B.” The air of resentment that had surrounded him for the past minute dissipates, replaced by something gentler, something _sincere_. “I still think you’re really pretty.”

Seemingly of its own volition, her unoccupied hand drifts up to her crown, splaying gloved fingers across the headband.

A satisfied gleam enters 9S’s eyes as he notes the unconscious motion. “I hope you’ll continue to wear that. It really _does_ look good on you.”

Something pink and _mortified_ rises up inside her, causing 2B to snatch her wayward hand back to her side. “9S, I’ve finally found you a nickname.” The words tumble out of her in a rush; she _must_ present her gift to him before it is too late. “It’s—” she falters, uncertainty overcoming her for a brief second – _what if he doesn’t like what she’d come up with?_ – before she powers onwards “—it’s _Nines_.” 

At this, 9S’s gaze softens, and his corners of his mouth curl upwards. It is an unmistakeable smile, though watery and filled with more sorrow than any kind of happy sentiment. “Nines, huh?" His voice lilts with wonder. " _Nines_ ,” he repeats, testing out the sound of the monosyllabic moniker. “I like it. I really do. Say it again for me, please.”

She obliges. “Nines.”

He takes a step towards her, unclenching the hand still closed around his visor and allowing the scrap of black fabric to drift towards the ground. “Again.”

“Nines,” 2B says once more.

Another step forward, then another. “Again.”

“Nines…” the nickname leaves 2B’s lips with more uncertainty when she registers the pace at which 9S is approaching her. Cruel Oath hovers behind him, a silent golden sentinel – but if his expression is any indication, he has no intention of drawing it. Of arming himself against the threat that _she_ presents. Indeed, trust features all too prominently across the planes of his boyish face.

“ _2B_.”

9S has reduced the distance between them to a mere foot, close enough for him to reach out and touch her. Close enough for her to raise her sword and cleave him in half with a single swipe. But as he tilts his head up to meet her gaze, what 2B sees renders her shock-still. At her right side, Virtuous Contract rattles uselessly, caught in her over-tight grip.

There is a veritable wealth of emotion within 9S’s blue eyes. Every feeling that he’d suppressed, sealed behind the gate of his visor and YoRHa’s prohibitions, now spills out of him unrestrained. That miraculous, ill-placed trust aside, 2B detects his ever-present sadness as well as vestiges of the burning want he’d directed at her three weeks ago. Encompassing them all is something gentle yet powerful, something she’d witnessed in exchanges between individuals held together by an unbreakable bond:

_Affection._

“Thank you,” 9S says, his words a rich susurration of warmth. “For going to the trouble of picking out a nickname for me. We both know it won’t… get any further use. But I have no doubt that the next 9S would appreciate you calling him ‘Nines’ just as much.”

Slowly, he extends his hand towards her, and 2B’s breath hitches as it makes contact with her cheek. Though obscured by his thick gloves – which she all of a sudden wishes were not present – his touch _burns_ her.

“Goodbye, 2B.” His voice cracks upon her name. Tears spill from him in earnest, cascading down his face. “I hope you’ll remember me.”

It takes an inordinate amount of willpower to hold back from leaning into his hand. Were that she could brand the imprint of his fingers into her skin, sear his too-light caress into eternal memory. “I will never forget you, Nines,” she vows with hitherto-unknown ferocity.

Giving her a brief, tear-stained smile, 9S pulls away. The ensuing sense of loss is so _profound_ that it leaves 2B feeling cold and empty, as though every ounce of vitality had been sucked out of her body. Thus disorientated, it takes her a moment to realise that 9S has turned his back towards her.

“Please, 2B, m-make it quick,” he implores of her, audibly sobbing now. “Before I—before I c-chicken out.”

How can she refuse so heartfelt and devastating a request? 2B complies, muscle memory repositioning her into the correct stance as she raises Virtuous Contract to the appropriate height. But the pain – the raw, undiluted _grief_ – that surges through her every circuit causes her arms to shake so much that she cannot hold the sword steady.

2B clamps her jaw together. She _will_ do this.

Lips pulled back in an agonised snarl, she lunges blade-first. Her aim is true, and 9S emits a gasp of pain as Virtuous Contract enters his back and exits through his chest, accompanied by a small spray of blood.

“T-thank y-you… 2B.”

She switches to a one-handed grip as she withdraws her blade, hooking her free arm around 9S’s midsection to catch him before he falls.

Tossing Virtuous Contract aside – it makes a muffled thud against the grass that cushions its landing – she gathers 9S fully into her arms. Then she tucks in her knees, bringing them both to the ground. 9S’s head comes to rest on her lap, a too-intimate liberty that she had never permitted him in life.

There is no trace of horror or fear on his youthful face. Instead, he wears an oddly serene expression. It is as though he had made his peace upon the moment of death, accepted the excruciating cruelty of his fate.

Somehow, this makes it so much worse than if he had fought back instead.

Numbly, 2B hears Pod 042 provide its clinical confirmation of 9S’s offline black box signal.

Something takes root inside her, growing and twisting and worming itself into every internal nook and cranny until she feels fit to burst. Yet all that escapes her are tears, streaming from her eyes to soak into her visor. Discomfited, she tries to blinks them away. But they keep falling. Eventually, the fabric becomes so saturated that it can no longer contain them, allowing moisture to trickle down her cheeks.

Locked into motionlessness by the Earth’s unnatural orbit, the sun continues its hot, relentless outpour. It is an indeterminable amount of time later that 2B sets down 9S’s body and leaves the scene.


	8. Interlude I - Glimpse into Her Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** : Time to take a short break from 2B’s POV and go back to the present. This chapter will serve to tie up loose ends in the backstory (as it currently stands) and feed them into the main one. Expect lots of exposition, cross-referencing and psychoanalysis. It’s something of a relief to return to 9S’s POV, however briefly; his narrative comes a lot more naturally to me.
> 
> Also, say hi to my interpretation of hacking space and its unusual mechanics. As one might expect, this is heavily based on _Memory Thorn_ , Chapter 4. The setting also borrows some physical elements from the Soul Box event.

xxx

**8. _Interlude I_**

_**Glimpse into Her Heart**_

xxx

Moving between physical reality and hacking space can be quite jarring.

Although he’d made the transition countless times, 9S is not immune to the disorientation it brings. For a few seconds, all he registers is _white_ as his consciousness exits his body and reconstitutes itself within 2B’s mind. (Of course, these ‘seconds’ are relative, as time in hacking space is subject to perception-distorting effects akin to what humans experience during the phenomenon known as ‘dreaming’.)

Then awareness trickles back to him, first taking the form of sensations. 9S can feel the flat, smooth surface beneath his feet, the pull of simulated gravity on his spine and locked knees, the mild ambient chill. If he has retained kinesthesia and thermosensitivity – both of which are complex physiological responses – this suggests that he is in possession of a complete avatar.

As his ocular feed is still loading – 68%, 71%, 75% – visual confirmation will have to wait. So 9S breaks out into an experimental wiggle. All of his body parts seem to be intact, which lends credence to his hypothesis.

Full-body projections are rare. More often than not, 9S is rendered into two-dimensional space, and thus undergoes some kind of compression in order to interface with the simplified elements. He would assume the form of a triangular cursor, and incoming sensory information would be limited to visual and auditory data. A primitive form of the pain feedback mechanism would also remain, to warn him of potential threats.

This is not the case with a complete avatar, where bodily and sensory functions mirror those in physical reality. Since hacking space does not produce any scent or edible substances, 9S’s olfactory and gustatory senses play no role and may as well be omitted. The continuous, all-encompassing silence is interrupted as he taps his boot against the ground, making a solid, far-carrying sound.

At last, his ocular feed finishes its upload. Slowly, details of 9S’s whitewashed surroundings come into focus.

The complexity of the hacking space is determined by that of the hackee’s mind or network. Throughout the course of his lifetime, 9S has explored a variety of environments, from simple, closed rooms, to larger halls broken up by partitions and gaps, to multi-chambered complexes with arteries of interlinking pathways. His own hacking space resembles an open, undulating labyrinth, complete with numerous pockets and culs-de-sac in which bits of data are stored.

That said, 9S has yet to encounter anything like the crumbling stronghold before him.

The whole construct appears to be over-fortified, yet ready to shatter at a well-placed blow. There are numerous hollows where defensive structures – repulsion barriers or attack turrets – would be placed, but 2B must have disabled them for his ease. Cracks spiderweb across the stratified walls, which start at twice 9S’s height and rise only higher. They are built upon each other in haphazard fashion, with new sections of wall patching over what had succumbed to decay. This contrasts with the tidy architecture, which comprises of a ring of evenly spaced chambers surrounding an elevated central platform.

Since hacking space is a representation of one’s personality data, 2B must be in poor mental shape. A more detailed diagnosis is beyond him – much less a repair regimen – for 9S does not possess any in-depth healer expertise. (He imagines _that’s_ something he would enjoy though, were the option of switching models made available to him.)

Nevertheless, it is clear to any untrained eye that the aforementioned walls have undergone numerous cycles of collapse and reconstruction. Which isn’t unlike the death-rebirth cycle that 9S himself undergoes. And unless he has missed his guess, the chaotic layering is not a product of deliberate effort so much as self-protective instinct.

How much psychological trauma must 2B have suffered for her hacking space to look like this?

For the first time in past two days – since 9S had learned of YoRHa’s and 2B’s betrayal – the anger that had consumed him is thrust aside, supplanted by urgency. Now that 9S has become aware of 2B’s less-than-ideal state, it is absolutely _imperative_ that he views her memories. He needs to figure out what had caused this. He needs to unearth his (past) involvement in the matter, for he cannot shake the feeling that somehow, _he_ lies at the root of it all.

As though acquiescing to his unspoken request, a strip of golden light appears on the nearest wall, causing white blocks to melt away and open up a gap. Without hesitation, 9S follows the new path into the stronghold. Something tells him that the answers he seeks do not lie far ahead; perhaps they await him on the central platform? So he beelines in that direction, his movements hurried but tentative as he crosses a dilapidated bridge across the moat-like chasm and scales several flights of equally dilapidated stairs.

His intuition proves correct when he gingerly lifts his feet over the splintered final step and arrives at his destination. The central platform is indeed the home of 2B’s memory data. Made visible by 9S’s proximity, hundreds upon thousands of floating screens pepper the empty space above him, each projecting a full-colour image of a past event – a _memory_.

They are far more numerous than his, 9S notes with no small amount of resentment. This makes sense, given that 2B has led something more than a prematurely truncated life. During his exploration of YoRHa’s main server, 9S had come across a curious tidbit of information: 2B’s rollout date was January 7th, 11942. Today is January 26th, 11945. So 2B must have a little more than three years worth of accumulated memories, assuming continuous operation.

Despite their abundance, there are several things amiss about said memories. Closer examination reveals that the screens are misshapen, some missing a corner there or perhaps a chunk from the side. They also look to be fragmented, split apart like panes of broken glass. Most disturbingly of all, there are coils of what resembles translucent razor wire wrapped around them. Some memories are swathed in concentric layers of the stuff, giving the appearance of a particularly vicious thorn bush.

Although 9S has never seen anything like this, the warning cannot be any clearer. However, the relentlessness of his curiosity is such that he tends to ignore deterrents. Swallowing, he extends a hand towards the closest screen—

_(tears farewell bloodstained blade crumpling body loss)_

—and is wracked with pain.

He jerks back, an involuntary reaction. Still reeling from shock – and the intensity of the too-vivid images and sensations – 9S shoots a glance at the offending memory. It remains unchanged, as thorny and peril-ridden as ever. No doubt every other memory will be the same.

This is going to be much, _much_ harder than he had assumed. But 9S will not let that stop him. He will see his objective through, no matter how torturous the journey may be.

Straightening, 9S calls up a terminal, which manifests as a holographic screen before his fingertips. He inputs a command to filter out the memories that do not contain any relevance to the keyword ‘9S’, and another to organise them into chronological order. In response, the memory data swirls, rearranging itself into a single-file upwards spiral. Only a few pieces break away and fade from view, which attests to 9S’s prominence in 2B’s history.

By default, android memories present in order of personal significance or emotional impact. However, they all contain timestamps, enabling them to be manipulated by date-based criteria. If 9S is going to subject himself to a continuous barrage of painful recollections, he may as well start from the beginning.

He closes the terminal, which disperses into golden motes. In front of him now floats the first entry in the series of memories, awaiting his perusal. Sucking in a deep breath, 9S leans forward and brings his forehead into contact with the fractured, thorny surface.

Then he is swept up into a whirlwind of colour and movement, complete with annotations of 2B’s fluctuating mental state.

As intel collection often requires in-depth surveys of hackees’ mindscapes, 9S is no stranger to memory spectating. However, he has never before hacked into a fellow android for this explicit purpose. There is no denying how _gross_ an invasion of privacy this is. While he may be an outsider looking into 2B’s memories, he is privy to her every thought and feeling and bodily sensation – even ones she hadn’t identified herself. So intimately is he entangled with her experience that he may as well as inhabiting her very skin.

But there isn’t room for doubt or turning back now. Whatever her misgivings, 2B had consented to let 9S view their shared past. Because this is what he wants. This is what he came here for.

So he forges onwards.

Their earliest encounter was more or less what he’d expected. Still, it is _disquieting_ to watch 2B – or rather 2 _E_ , since she had yet to be reformatted back then – murder him in cold blood. There was no hesitation in the way she’d plunged her blade through him, or cleaned it on his coat afterwards. Her motion were fluid and efficient. An exemplary performance by an exemplary executioner – Command’s ruthlessness personified.

Yet 2E was not completely devoid of humanity. As a stranger, 9S would’ve meant nothing to her other than a target to be eliminated, a job to be performed. Even so, she’d given him an odd sort of respect, going as far to close his shock-stricken eyes and compose an epithet. Though she’d been born and bred into it, her duty was not something 2E took pleasure in. Rather, she saw it as a necessary evil to forward YoRHa’s goals and bring glory to mankind.

Despite how misguided her underlying reason ultimately proved to be, 9S cannot fault the purity of her intentions.

This scenario repeated itself at least three times over. 2E would ambush his unwitting self, overwhelm him with her superior combat prowess, report his inevitable death. Then she became _2B_. A guise to lower his natural suspicion, so that she can accompany him as his so-called partner. Being in his immediate vicinity made it easier to monitor him – or execute him when the occasion called for it.

In the end, it was 9S’s own wilful ignorance that enabled 2B to carry out her objective. (This particular failing had persisted through his reincarnations; the prospect of company always made him too giddy to _want_ to see past her obvious charade.) She’d demonstrated no skill in ingratiating herself with others, victims or otherwise. Never he had come across somebody so stiff, so bereft of social grace. Not even the passage of time had managed to soften her unyielding edges.

It makes sense now. 2B had emerged from a life of total isolation. Since birth, she’d been segregated, honed into the perfect weapon, tasked to do nothing but kill. This left her woefully uneducated in all other respects. Why, her encounter with him in the Bunker’s corridors was probably her first genuine interaction with anyone in a long time. Not to mention she’d needed to adapt to the novelty of a partner. He’d been her first, as she’d been his.

Of course, none of that had stopped her from proceeding to annihilate him in the silent reaches of space.

9S grits his teeth, feeling his temporarily dampened rage rise from the depths and seethe inside him. So 2B had felt guilty? As she should. It must have been convenient to go without a moral compass, robbing fellow soldiers of their lives and wills without second thought.

About time she learned how _wrong_ it was.

Also, it gratifies him to know that Command had decided the potential trouble he would cause was worth more than a flight unit. How _quaint_ that a disposable tool like himself should suddenly gain value once armed with too-dangerous knowledge.

Sardonic acknowledgment aside, it would seem that things – for 2B, at least – take a drastic turn beyond that point.

In the process of assimilating into her new role, 2B became more… _human_. Though gradual, this transformation was obvious, especially to 9S’s spectator eyes. She’d started to _feel_ things, even against her and YoRHa’s insistence that emotions were prohibited. Having neither experience nor self-awareness – nor the inclination to research such matters – 2B wasn’t able to put names to the strange, alien forces that stirred inside her.

(But 9S can. And what a veritable _buffet_ they present.)

Among 2B’s newfound feelings were liberation – or some limited measure of it – because she could finally venture beyond her grim executioner duties and try out something new. Attachment, since she was no more immune to loneliness than 9S himself was, and couldn’t help but cleave to the nearest person who provided respite from it. Weariness, in having to stifle this attachment, fend off 9S’s friendly advances and hold both him _and_ herself back. Frustration, at 9S’s inability to keep his curiosity in check, hence instigating his termination and bringing their partnership to a premature end.

Then she’d felt regret, because she had grown accustomed to his presence and didn’t want to be deprived of it, of _him_. Remorse, in having to push aside his abject pleas and cut his life short once more. Horror, upon witnessing the betrayal in his eyes as she’d dealt the killing blow. And finally grief, when she’d looked down at his fresh, lifeless corpse and confronted the reality that he – the 9S who existed in this point in time alone – would forever cease to be.

These are… _uncomfortable_ revelations to 9S. However they disagree with his assumptions of her character, 2B’s memories contain none other than the raw, unadulterated truth. Though he’d viewed precious little thus far, everything points towards one conclusion: 2B isn’t the cold, two-faced assassin he’d made her out to be.

Her distress had felt much too _real_.

Is this the reason why her memories are riddled with thorns? Had 9S been mistaken about the extent of her deception? What about those invectives he’d slung at her; do they have any actual basis? Is his anger towards her – in all of its presumed vindication – even warranted in the first place?

(However, if he elects to give her the benefit of the doubt, that would mean that he was needlessly, horribly _cruel_ to her—)

Equally uncomfortable is the fact that his past self had begged for his life. It’d never occurred to him that he could sink to that level of desperation. Still, what does pride matter when faced with destruction?

But such is the ignominy of his fate – to be destroyed and reborn evermore. Upon completing another round of his life cycle, 9S would reenter the world a blank slate, his bloodstained history cast away into the void of oblivion. This was how 2B had found him next. Her old partner was gone – forgotten to everyone else but her – and replaced with his amnesic lookalike.

The sense of loss that had overcome her in that moment takes 9S aback. Is this how 2B had felt each and every time she’d needed to start over with him? Is this the beginning of a nightmarish loop where 2B would mourn his dead self even as she painstakingly rebuilds her relationship with his next copy?

Only further unpleasantness could lie in the answers, but 9S continues watching nevertheless. It would seem that 2B had let this 9S get rather closer than his predecessor. (Not that _he_ had lacked in boldness, though every 9S bar none would _leap_ at the invitation to deepen his bond with their collective object of affection.) She’d neglected to stymie his light-hearted banter and increasingly familiar gestures, including use of the term ‘friend’. And despite rejecting his gift at first, she had yet to cease wearing it. Even today, it - or perhaps a replica, as the original is unlikely to have survived through all this time – stays in its rightful place atop her crown.

9S had always thought the headband looked good on her. Stylish, but not ostentatious. _Distinctive_. It brings out her more individualistic side, which 2B dismisses too often in favour of pragmatism. So it pleases 9S to learn that he – or at least, a previous incarnation – had played a part in putting it there. Though what he views is filtered through the lens of 2B’s experience, it contains more than enough details to infer what his other self may be thinking.

The headband was meant as an innocuous gift. However, upon placement, it had clarified 9S’s once-undefined attraction to 2B, crystallised his desire for her. (The fact that romantic feelings had emerged this early on comes as a bit of a surprise, but there would've been one 9S in the past who'd set the precedent.) Hence the headband turned into something possessive – a stake of claim. By choosing to accept and wear it, 2B had made the implicit announcement that she was _his_.

9S never realised that he could give 2B so intense a look, lay out his want before her with such blatancy. If only she would give him the same look in return…

Against his better judgment, he allows a bubble of hope to swell within him. Maybe one of his previous selves was fortunate enough to receive it? There _does_ appears to be a trend of escalating intimacy, after all. If 9S plots out the current reference points and makes an extrapolation from those, eventually his and 2B's closeness would reach a level where it is typical to engage in—

No. This is a mistake. It's ludicrous to think that the development of intimacy can be conceptualised as a graph, linear or exponential or otherwise. Relationships don’t work like that. Once again, 9S is allowing his wishfulness to lead him down a foolish train of thought…

Whatever the case, no romantic fruition did come out of the current lifetime, since things after that devolved in predictable fashion.

Without fail, 9S would follow his too-curious instincts to the anomaly of humanity’s presence – or lack thereof – on the moon. This time, instead of launching into a independent search for the truth, he’d first consulted 2B’s opinion. But he hadn’t understood why she’d tried to stop him. It wasn’t out of misguided intent to protect YoRHa’s secrets. Rather, she’d wanted to forestall 9S’s unwitting march to his own death.

She’d wanted to _save_ him.

It is _this_ piece of knowledge that decimates what little remains of 9S’s previous accusations against 2B. None of them had held any true weight. He’d been so very mistaken about her.

_(Nothing we’ve had was ever a lie—)_

2B had never pretended to care for him. She’d never pretended to be his partner or his friend. It was 9S who’d ascribed an ulterior motive to her – that she’d foster false intimacy between them in order to soften him up for the kill. In reality, she’d done the opposite. But _he_ had gravitated to her despite her efforts to keep him at arm’s length, and _his_ insistence had eventually worn her down.

No, whatever sentimentality 2B did – and still does – harbour for him was genuine. That’s why she’d gone to the trouble of picking out a meaningful nickname, imparting to him the timeless gift of _Nines_. Through some inexplicable cosmic force, the moniker had persisted to the present day. His hunch was right, after all. 2B had indeed slipped up when she'd used it, for it was a relic of the distant past, an echo of a memory he couldn’t recall.

This 9S was the first one to receive that gift. He was also the first one to realise the magnitude of his error – that his pursuit of the truth had ruined any possibility of a future with 2B. There was no discourse but for him to come to terms with the consequences and say his goodbyes. Just as there was no discourse but for 2B to carry out the termination order and weep over his dead body.

How many dead 9S’s had she wept over? How many tears had she shed for him throughout the course of this seemingly endless cycle?

Her cumulative misery cannot be anything short of _astronomical_. Every 9S she’d been with, every single one of his lifetimes… would've amounted to a lifetime of suffering for her. Because no matter how close they became, no matter how hard 2B tried to subvert their fate, she always had to kill him – the one person she’d come to care for – in the end.

This epiphany hits him with the force of a full-speed vehicle collision, leaving him winded and causing his knees to buckle and fold under him. Coolant – or the digital equivalent – escapes from his eyes in an abrupt stream, and it feels like his chest is currently subject to the pulverising embrace of a compactor.

But 9S cannot stop now. He _will_ not stop, not until he views every agonising moment and comprehends the full extent of her tragedy. While he’d been spared the true horror of their fucked-up circumstances by virtue of having his memory reset, 2B was forced to endure _all three years of it_ by herself.

 _Oh, 2B. I’m sorry. I’m so,_ so _sorry you had to go through that…_

But no longer will she suffer alone. 9S will share her burden, shoulder the crush of her pain. He will bear her torment alongside her.

Because he is 2B’s _partner_.

They may not have begun that way. Indeed, 2B was 9S’s executioner before his comrade. But each of his sacrifices had humanised her, brought emotion and life and purpose into the void where there was none. He’d formed an inextricable part of her past, just as she’d formed part of his.

They are two opposing but incomplete forces, neither able to subsist without the other. Though fate may continuously tear them apart, they would always find their way back to one another. In life or death or memory, 9S’s place is by 2B’s side.

Feeling his resolve gain strength within him, 9S wipes his eyes on his sleeve and rises to his feet. He levels his gaze at the next set of memories, which look especially thorny. Squaring his shoulders and clenching his fists, he plunges in.


	9. The Executioner’s Past, Part V: Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning – _suicide_. Read at your own risk. This is hands down the most traumatic thing I’ve written to date. Also, beware the sadness. I’ve ripped out my own heart in the process of writing this chapter and cradled the bloody mess in my hands. 
> 
> I apologise for the long time between updates. Writer’s block sucks, and it wasn't easy to find the motivation to pick up my writing again. The difficult subject matter has not helped, either. But this story is not dead, I swear! 
> 
> Have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

xxx

**9. _The Executioner’s Past  
Part V: Despair_**

xxx

“Alert: Incoming transmission from Operator 6O.”

Pod 042’s monotone rings across the rocky plains, bringing 2B’s distance-eating trot to a stop. The sudden absence of footfalls behind her indicates that 9S has done the same. She doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know he’s tilting his head in that curious manner of his, wondering what has come up.

Turning towards the source of the interruption, 2B orders, “Patch her through, Pod.” 

Her tactical support unit bobs in mid-air. “Affirmative.”

A _click_ and a buzz of static follow as a holo-screen appears, displaying the veiled lower face and plaited blonde pigtails of Operator 6O.

“Hey 2B!” she chirps. Her exuberance is on par with 9S’s, if more pronounced thanks to the shrillness of her voice. “I didn’t chime in at a bad time, did I?”

“Your timing is fine,” replies 2B. “We are not currently engaged. What is it, Operator 6O?”

“I’d love to stick around and chat, but I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” 6O admits, giving an apologetic shake of her head. “2B, you need to report back to the Bunker straightaway. The Commander wants to see you.”

2B feels an encroaching sense of unease. Holding face-to-face meetings with their leader is not a common occurrence, even for a high-performing E-unit like herself. “Did she say why?”

“Only that it’s urgent.”

The uneasy feeling solidifies into a lead weight at the bottom of her mechanical gut. There can only be one matter that demands any level of urgency, and 2B isn’t surprised that Command has found it disagreeable. “Very well. I will make my way to the nearest transporter immediately.”

“I’ve marked the co-ordinates on your map,” 6O says, bringing up an adjacent holo-screen to demonstrate this. “The nearest one is about three kilometres away.”

“I shouldn’t take long then.”

Turning her gaze onto said map, 2B studies the topography between their present location and her highlighted destination. The next twenty seconds are spent plotting out and establishing her route. Once done, 2B saves the data into her navigation engine and swipes at the map to dematerialise it. This is when 6O pipes up again, reclaiming 2B’s attention.

“You know, the Commander doesn’t usually demand an audience like that.” A furrow has formed between the operator’s manicured brows, and her voice takes on a worried inflection. “You—you haven’t gotten yourself into trouble, have you, 2B?”

Is 6O not privy to the details of 2B’s apparent misdeed? Perhaps some things will never venture outside the strictest of confidence. “Of course not.”

The lie doesn’t seem to convince 6O, whose frown persists. Regardless, she elects not to pursue the subject further. Out of anyone, it is _she_ who has the greatest appreciation of 2B’s need to maintain secrets. “Okay then. See you soon! Operator 6O out.”

6O’s projection fades out of sight, which leaves 2B staring out at the barren, rugged plains once more. That is, until 9S steps into view. In light of her troubling exchange with 6O, she had completely forgotten about him. Neither she nor 6O had disclosed any sensitive information, but that wouldn’t stop him from making (accurate) inferences. Already she can see the cogs spinning in that too-clever android brain of his. 

“9S—” she begins, but he cuts her off with a raised palm.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask.” Though wan, the smile he offers her is full of understanding. “You go ahead. I’ll finish up our mission.”

Surprised – and _thankful_ – that 9S is making the effort to hold back his otherwise irrepressible curiosity, 2B lets out a quiet sigh. “Alright then.” 

However, as soon as she turns on her heel to set off in the opposite direction, 9S interrupts her once more. “Before you go, 2B…”

She twists towards him. “Yes?”

His mouth opens as if to say something, but he closes it a moment later, shaking his head. “Never mind. Just… try not to let the Commander get you down, you hear? We know how much of a hard-ass she can be.”

Normally, 2B would reprimand him for bad-mouthing their leader – and behind her back, at that. But it’s clear his invective is born of concern rather than malice. “Noted. But you needn’t worry about me.”

9S responds by closing the gap between them and resting his hand on her shoulder. Though light, its weight is an immeasurable comfort. 2B doesn’t know how or when her aversion to physical contact had vanished, but she finds herself welcoming casual touches from him – such as _this_ – more and more often.

“Take care, 2B.” There’s a restrained quality to his voice, which betrays the underlying affection he is forbidden to express, the affection she _knows_ he harbours for her. It's something she's come to recognise over the course of too many of his lifetimes, and it only seems to grow stronger with each iteration. “See you later. I’ll be waiting for you.”

A moment later, he withdraws. The loss of his touch is accompanied by a strange ache within 2B’s black box cavity. Whether it stems from regret or gratitude or something else, she cannot tell. 

Too overwhelmed by the feeling to speak, she simply inclines her head towards 9S, who returns the nod. Then, in concert, they turn away from each other and begin their separate journeys across the jagged earth, scattering pebbles in their wake.

_Thank you, Nines._

  


* * *

  


The colourless walls of the Bunker shimmer into view as 2B steps out from an onsite transporter. Pausing for a moment to reorientate herself, she then makes her way towards the Commander’s quarters, which is situated at the far end of the corridor. Her path takes her past several fellow YoRHa units. They turn curiously towards her as she walks by, but she pays them no mind.

With each step, her dread grows, spreading weakness and discomfort through her nervous circuits to an almost debilitating degree. There is no question what the the upcoming meeting with YoRHa’s leader will be about: 2B’s cancellation request for 9S’s execution order.

That’s right. 2B had _refused_ to carry out a direct order.

She’s just so _tired_ of killing 9S. Perhaps she’s lapsed into a state of dysfunction, because even though more than seventeen months have passed since her assignment started, she hasn’t managed to acclimatise to it. Worse yet, it’s only become more difficult with each successive execution.

Nevertheless, several 9S’s have died by her blade since the one she’d first called Nines. Even now she mourns him. She is _always_ mourning him – and the one after him, and the one after him.

_I will never forget you._

The headband that sits atop her crown is not the same one he had gifted to her. Said gift was irreparably damaged during a machine engagement a while back, to her abject – but silent – distress. No, what she’s now wearing is but a crude replacement. It’s not uncommon for YoRHa units to make cosmetic alterations, and Command had acquiesced to her request to include the hair ornament as part of her model’s design. (The fact that she’s made a sizeable payment from her accumulated salary helps, of course.)

So what had once been a gift has turned into a memento, something by which to commemorate Nines. But only 2B knows this. Everyone else presumes she has donned the headband for vanity purposes. The numerous compliments she’s received about it do not give her any satisfaction; instead they fuel her disquiet, her sense of injustice.

How is it fair that no one remembers 9S but his murderer? Does he not deserve to have other people recall and recognise the many accomplishments he’s made throughout his lifetimes? What is the sense in him having to die and be forgotten over and over again?

If 2B’s purpose is to act as the instrument by which to carry out 9S’s endless sacrifice, then she renounces all faith in it. Her delusions are now shattered. She knows she can’t be entitled to any reward after all the atrocities she’s committed, and there is certainly no idyllic paradise that will come for her at the conclusion of the war. No, the war will not end, and 2B’s future will not contain anything other than more bloodshed and suffering. Unless she stops it herself, this cycle of death and rebirth will persist evermore.

That’s why she’s looked into means of preventing it. If she can somehow steer 9S away from digging up the information that results in his demise, then his execution will not be necessary. However, her efforts always result in failure. Bringing up the topic of YoRHa’s main server tends to trigger his suspicion straightaway, prompting him to do the very opposite of what she warns him against. And there’s only so much she can do to distract him before he invariably seeks out the server himself – without consulting her beforehand, of course.

This leaves refusing her order as the only alternative. But if Command finds the prospect disagreeable, what will this mean for her? And for 9S?

2B doesn’t want to find out. Yet she must.

Her feet have already carried her to the end of the corridor, where the imposing white door to the Commander’s quarters awaits. After taking a steadying breath, 2B turns towards her ever-faithful companion, Pod 042, who hovers beside her.

“Pod, please let the Commander know I have arrived.”

“Affirmative. Sending transmission.”

A moment later, the airlock slides open with a hiss, and a tall, regal-looking android woman steps out. Her uniform comprises of a pale, close-fitting dress with a revealing slit up her left thigh, and she wears her long, golden hair in an elaborate updo. Piercing green eyes regard 2B with austerity, as though capable of seeing every flaw and wrongdoing.

“Unit 2B,” she calls out in an imperious alto, raising her left fist over her breast. 

2B returns the salute. “Greetings, Commander.”

The leader of YoRHa lets her arm fall back to her side, and 2B does likewise. “Come in, and take a seat.”

She turns around and reenters her quarters, 2B hot on her heels. The door seals itself after her, giving 2B the distinct feeling of being trapped. Already she manifests the symptoms of the flight instinct: elevated respiration and pulse rates, tension in her limbs, overworking thought processors. The urge to turn tail and run is overwhelming. Instead, she does as the Commander asks, settling into a nearby couch and adjusting her posture as to give the impression of receptivity.

2B has been in this room a handful of times, for official business. It is approximately four times larger than her own chambers, but no less spartan, aesthetic-wise. There is a still notable lack of colour, and the furnishings are simple: a bed, a desk and matching chairs, the lounge set 2B is currently occupying. In comparison to herself, the Commander seems to have a larger collection of material possessions. The shelves here are more filled than her own, at least. And contrary to Operator 6O’s rather inappropriate comments about their leader’s personal habits, there are no discarded clothing strewn about the place. (Not on this occasion, anyway.)

Navigating around the glass table between them, the Commander folds herself into the armchair opposite 2B. She presses her palms together, steepling her fingers. “I’m sure you know why I’ve called you in, 2B?”

Experience had taught 2B that it would be best to make her responses as neutral as possible. “I can make a reasonable guess, Commander.”

“Seventeen hours ago, you placed a cancellation request for unit 9S’s termination order. Why did you do so?”

“I…” 2B begins, but finds herself unable to continue.

“You don’t want to kill him,” the Commander finishes for her.

2B gives an internal sigh. There’s no point trying to prevaricate here. “That’s correct, Commander.”

The other android’s face looks like it might be carved out of granite. “Consider your request declined.”

Though 2B had expected this outcome, it doesn’t stop her from feeling the ensuing crush of disappointment. “…I see.”

“Do you realise why it cannot be accepted?” the Commander carries on, relentless.

“I do.”

She repositions her arms, crossing them over her chest. This only serves to add to her imposing presence. “Explain to me _why_ , 2B.”

“9S has accessed sensitive information in the Bunker’s main server,” 2B recites mechanically, “which in itself is a breach of YoRHa protocol. But the consequences are also far-reaching. Should our enemies get hold of this information, it would jeopardise the war effort. To minimise the risk of accidental dissemination, I have to terminate 9S.”

“Precisely,” the Commander affirms, her gaze hard. “Your task is of paramount importance.”

“I understand,” replies 2B in as level a voice as she can manage.

This prompts the other android to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you? Why then, have you allowed reluctance to supersede your duty? Are you placing greater priority on your emotions, which – might I add – are _forbidden_?

“You, 2B, are among our top-performing units,” she exposits, unfurling her arms and resting them on the arms of her chair. “In your twenty-two months of continuous operation, you have yet to undergo any performance management or disciplinary action. You have an unprecedented success rate when it comes to completing objectives.”

“ _That_ is why you have been entrusted with this particular assignment. One that upholds the integrity of YoRHa. Slip-ups will not be tolerated – we _cannot_ afford them.

“Your recent actions call your suitability into question. Is this assignment proving too difficult for you?”

Throughout the course of that lecture, 2B had felt her spine grow stiffer and stiffer. She ought to have known that her performance record – and the high expectations it set – would be used against her. Not to mention the ever-present ban on emotions. “I’m capable of handling it, Commander.”

“ _Are_ you?” The leader of YoRHa cocks her head, challenge flashing in her eyes. “It would be counterproductive, having to monitor the same unit I’ve sent to monitor our troublemaker.”

Pinching her lips together, 2B replies, “With all due respect Commander, wouldn’t it make more sense to prevent the situation altogether? Isn’t it possible to lower 9S’s curiosity setting, if it’s proving so problematic?”

“That would compromise the quality of his intel,” the android veteran retorts. “We require enemy data to be as comprehensive as possible. Even though amping up his curiosity would eventually result in delinquency, that can be mitigated through memory resets. It’s costly, but effective. High risk, high payoff.” 

It takes a substantial amount of effort for 2B to keep her hands from curling into fists. So 9S _was_ indeed created with the intention that he be sacrificed again and again, without end. “I see.”

The Commander’s green eyes rove over 2B critically, as though aware of her suppressed body language – and the _agitation_ that underpins it. “9S does not require his memories for optimal performance.”

“It’s… difficult, I admit,” 2B persists, taking care to maintain an impassive tone, “having to continuously start over and reestablish cooperative behaviours with a partner who has forgotten everything.”

“That would be true, under normal circumstances,” the other android allows. Then she crosses one leg over her opposite knee, and leans back into her seat. Her tone is a lot more forceful when she continues. “However, 9S is _not_ your partner. He is your _target_. You are merely operating under the guise of his partner. There is no need to build real rapport with him. Was that not outlined in the beginning?”

“It was, Commander.”

“Do you fear losing what semblance of comradeship you’ve built up with him? Is it sentimentality that forms the basis of your reluctance – your _disobedience_?”

2B can feel her jaw clenching of its own volition.

“You, like all E-units, know how dangerous it is to form attachments with your targets.”

“I am well aware of the danger, Commander,” 2B replies in an even voice, though her fingers lose the struggle to refrain from bunching up the fabric of her skirt.

“Unfortunately, your awareness alone is insufficient,” the leader of YoRHa counters. “The signs of your decline are clear, and you have now reached the point of imminent failure.” Her golden brows draw low, and she shifts her right arm as to prop her chin against her knuckles. “If your feelings towards 9S are proving a hindrance, perhaps you ought to have your memories reset.”

“No!” 2B cries out, a knee-jerk reaction. Forgetting 9S is _out of the question_ ; it would be as though he and all his previous incarnations had never _existed_. “I mean,” she hastily amends, retrieving her over-expressive hands into her lap, “it would be more advantageous for me to retain my memories. I have built up extensive combat data and experience throughout my operating lifetime, and it would reduce my efficiency to go without that.”

“If you will not undergo the memory reset, how will you rectify this mishap, then?”

“I—” 2B grinds her teeth, straining her processors in the effort to formulate a suitable answer. “This mishap will not happen again. You have my promise on that.”

The Commander’s lips flatten into a severe line. “Many things weigh on that promise, 2B. Things that pose an enormous risk to our organisation. Yet you still insist with this assignment?”

“As I’ve said, I’m capable of handling it.”

Something flickers in the other android’s stony expression. “I see you will not be swayed. In that case, I will hold you fully accountable for this decision.”

“Understood,” 2B accedes. There is an ominous note in the Commander’s statement, and it causes her pulse to quicken, her black box hammering a uneasy beat against her sternum.

It beats still faster as the Commander slaps her palm against the table – causing the glass to rattle – and delivers her next words with stern finality. “Consider this your first and final warning, 2B. Should you fail to carry out your orders again, you will face immediate and permanent decommission. 9S will be assigned to another E-unit. One who will not allow her emotions to interfere with her objective – with _YoRHa’s_ goals. Do I make myself clear?”

So not only had 2B’s course of action failed to achieve the desired outcome, it’s left her with no choice but to continue under much more unforgiving terms. She’s really screwed this one up, hasn’t she? “Of course, Commander.”

The leader of YoRHa fixes 2B with an unrelenting stare. “You, 2B, exist to fight this war and bring glory to mankind. You and 9S and every other soldier who wears our insignia. Do not forget that.”

“I never will.”

“That concludes our meeting.” She rises to her feet and brushes off a bit of imaginary lint from her skirt. “You’re dismissed, 2B.”

Stiffly pushing herself up, 2B sketches a perfunctory salute before heading towards the door. It slides open as she approaches, and reseals itself with a hiss upon her exit.

Free from the oppressive atmosphere of the previous room, 2B feels her artificial lungs expand and refill straightaway, as though making up for lost breath. However, the public hallway is not a good place to nurse her emotionally shaky state, so 2B wastes no time hurrying to her own chambers. She arrives there within a minute, and cloisters herself inside. 

Once assured of her privacy, she stumbles the short distance to her bed, and sinks onto it heavily. Swinging her legs over, she curls up into as tight a ball as possible, and wraps her arms around herself. 

For an indeterminate while, she stays in this position, unmoving.

  


* * *

  


The number of times 2B executed 9S has climbed into the twenties by now, and it won’t be long before she adds her current partner – who hasn’t even lived for _nineteen_ days – to the count. To say that she _abhors_ this prospect is a understatement.

Each step weighed down by reluctance, 2B trudges up the multi-storey stairway of a familiar building: the tallest skyscraper within the city ruins. According to Pod 042’s report, 9S hasn’t established any recent contact with the Bunker. Nor he has done so with 2B herself. However, his ID signal has been pinpointed to this location, where it has stayed put for the past hour hours. This suggests he’s made a deliberate decision to be here – that he is _waiting_ for her, as promised.

Does he realise that they would be meeting with each other for the very last time?

It’s an unusual choice of rendezvous point, she admits. Not that 2B is in any suitable frame of mind to speculate why. But were she to hazard a guess, 2B would say there’s something about the place that calls out to 9S, an inexplicable nostalgia that persists through his memory wipes. 

Ascending the final step, she emerges from the rooftop exit. Her eyes sweep across the open, sunlit area, and immediately hone onto the lone figure garbed in a black military uniform. 9S’s diminutive form and short white hair are features that she would recognise anywhere. He is standing perhaps five metres away from the building’s edge, his back facing her.

Stepping carefully as to dampen the usual click of her stilettos, 2B advances a few paces forward until 9S is within attacking range. As anti-unit mode had already been activated before her arrival, she reaches behind her for the hilt of Virtuous Contract and brings the katana into a ready stance. Every one of her circuits is screaming in protest; such is the extent of her _unwillingness_ to do this. But given Command’s new impositions, what alternative does she have? She and 9S are trapped in a never-ending spiral of life and death and betrayal, one from which they cannot escape.

“2B,” 9S calls out in his boyish tenor, causing 2B to go still. It seems that he is already aware of her presence. Well, pulling off the stealthy approach is all but impossible when he’s been expecting her. “It’s such a magnificent view, isn’t it?”

2B’s breath catches in her chest. Around a year ago, 9S had directed those very words at her. It was a different version of him. A _dead_ version of him.

“Everything is laid out in front of your eyes, like a visual buffet,” he continues in a wistful tone, spreading out his hands before him. “The rooftops of other buildings, the canopies of the overgrown trees. There’s the desert to the west, the canyon bridge to the east. The best part is the sky. It’s so clear from up here, so _blue_. And sometimes, a flock of birds would pass by. Reminds you there are still beautiful things in this world.”

What horrible irony, that 9S is extolling the beauty of nature when there is nothing beautiful whatsoever about their situation. And soon enough, he would be stripped of all further opportunity to contemplate anything – to even _breathe_.

She ought to make it quick. Perhaps attack him from behind, so that he wouldn’t see it coming. _That_ way he wouldn’t have to anticipate the moment of impact or the pain it would entail. Inflicting the least amount of pain is the most she can do for him, now.

But no sooner had she taken a step forward than he turns around.

“2B, I know what happened.” Although she cannot see 9S’s eyes behind his visor, there is something about his gaze that seems to pierce right through her. “I know why you’re here now.” He tilts his head significantly towards Virtuous Contract.

Her fingers clench around the hilt. “9S. _Nines_ ,” she chokes out, correcting herself. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t want to do it, do you?” His question, phrased with such certainty as it were, comes out as more of a statement.

“I’ve never enjoyed killing my fellow soldiers,” she confirms in a heartfelt murmur. “ _You_ , least of all.”

“But you don’t have a choice. Command took that away from you.” 

Thrown off-guard by those words, 2B gives an involuntary jerk. “How do you know that?”

There is a humourless curve to 9S’s lips. “I overheard your conversation with our leader.”

“Again, how?” she insists, genuinely perplexed. “We talked in her personal quarters. You weren’t even on the Bunker.”

“Top-end scanner, remember?” he replies, tapping his temple for emphasis. “When 6O called to let you know about your upcoming meeting with the Commander, I absolutely _had_ to find out what it was about. So I used a nearby radio tower to perform a remote hack, and went through the surveillance recordings. If I’m gonna dig through YoRHa’s classified files and leave behind a mess, might as well go all the way, right?” He throws up his palms in a unrepentant shrug.

So 9S had contrived to spy on 2B and the Commander from the very beginning. This admission doesn’t surprise her at all. “I knew you would hack into the main server eventually," she explains. "Since I couldn’t stop you from doing that, I tried taking things up with the Commander instead—”

“—only it backfired,” 9S finishes for her. “In your efforts to spare me from my own mistake, you’ve jeopardised your own standing with Command. If anyone should be should be sorry, it’s _me_.” He lets out a brief, self-deprecating chuckle, then his tone takes on a harsher, bitter edge. “Or perhaps our higher-ups in Command, for being heartless shits who don’t give a _damn_ about the soldiers they keep throwing into the line of fire.

“Oh, _2B_ ,” he continues, the darkness in his voice whiplashing to place a sympathetic stress on her name, “they gave you such a horrible ultimatum. Kill me, or risk getting decommissioned and having me pawned off to another E-unit. I knew the Commander was a hard-ass, but I never imagined she would be _that_ ruthless.”

“9S, please know I never wanted it to come to this,” 2B implores, presenting the wrist of her free hand to him in a show of sincerity. “I was assigned to you for this purpose, but I never wanted to do it. I _never_ wanted to become your killer. I really wish—” she tucks her chin against her collarbone, retracting her arm as to splay her fingers across her breast, “—that I was just 2 _B_ to you.”

“You’ll _always_ be 2B to me.” The manner in which he says this is unmistakably, _impossibly_ tender.

“Even though I’ve lied to you and pretended to be someone else all along?” 2B contests, her hand tightening into a fist. “I’m just a filthy _murderer_.”

9S shakes his head gently. “You don’t have to be. Not this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve got it worked out.” Angling his body to the side, he gestures at the well-decorated horizon. “This building has a vertical height of ninety-eight metres. If I jump, it will take me roughly four-and-a-half seconds to reach the ground, in which I would achieve eighty-three percent terminal velocity and be subject to nearly one thousand two-hundred and eighty newtons of gravitational force. That’s quite a bit more than the lethal limit, isn’t it?”

There is no phrase or expression that can adequately convey the _horror_ 2B feels upon hearing him say those words – in so _casual_ a manner, no less. “9S, surely you’re not planning to—”

“I _am_ ,” he interrupts her with surprising forcefulness. “One way or another, I _have_ to die. There’s no escaping the fact that I’m just a sacrificial pawn. It’s like the Commander said, I’m programmed to become delinquent eventually. But I won’t force you to pay the price for my crimes. I won’t force you to kill me when you so clearly hate doing it.

“So please, 2B," his voice quietens to a soft plea, accompanied by his spread palms, "let me do this one thing for you.”

It is 2B’s turn to shake her head, and she does so with no small amount of franticness. “But Nines, why? Taking your own life – that’s an _awful_ decision to make!”

Lips curling in a melancholic smile, 9S takes a step towards her. “I will do anything for you, including _this_. Because you mean everything to me.

“Believe me 2B, it’s not easy to make this choice. We’re in a really fucked up situation, and I’m still struggling to come to terms with it all. I don’t wanna give up my life or my memories! But between dying and forgetting everything, and never being by your side again, I will always choose death.

“Just let me say this." He clasps his hands together, his expression turning solemn. "I don’t ever regret being with you. Not in the slightest. Every moment spent with you – whether that’s going on missions, running errands, or even waiting around in the Bunker or the Resistance camp – I treasure them all. Our time together was short, but I’m grateful I got the chance to know you. Hopefully things will work out better for us in the next life. 

Another smile graces his face, and his next words come out in a rich susurration of warmth. “Goodbye, 2B. I’m honoured to be your partner, and your friend. We will meet again.”

His part thus said, 9S turns around so that his back is facing her. Then, before she can register what is happening, he breaks out into a sprint towards the edge of the building.

“No! Nines, wait!” She reaches out for him, but her fingers close around empty air. He has already disappeared from sight.

This is followed by a horrible crunching noise a moment later.

“ _Nines_!”

Grabbing hold of Pod 042 to slow down her descent, 2B chases after him, floating down to the ground.

9S - or his body, rather – lies in a small crater, his parts mangled beyond recognition. His blood is splattered violently across the pavement, forming an ever-expanding puddle around what remains of him. A swift analysis from Pod 042 informs her that while his black box signal is so faint as to be almost undetectable, it remains active.

This means he is still alive somehow, which also means she has to complete her task and kill him once more.

His sacrifice had been in vain.

“Oh, Nines…”

Her entire body trembling, 2B grasps the hilt of Virtuous Contract and raises it high above her head. There is an unknown force that has taken shape inside her, dark and turbulent. Then it tears out of her in the form of an animalistic scream as she swings downwards, bringing the sword through 9S's chest.

“Black box signal for YoRHa unit 9S confirmed offline.”

Sapped of all energy at once, 2B crumples onto her knees, her grip on the pommel the only thing that keeps her upright. Tears flow uncontrollably from her eyes, soaking into her visor and saturating the fabric. Her breathing breaks down into an arrhythmic stutter, and her chest heaves with every laborious expansion and contraction. For a while afterwards, there is nothing but the sound of her broken sobs.


End file.
